The  Supreme  Sacrifice 

OR 

GILLETTE'S   MARRIAGE 


By 

MAMIE     BOWLES 

Author  of 

"Tbe  Amazing  Lady,"  etc. 


G.    W.    DILLINGHAM    COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 

1901 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 


A  U  rights  reserved 


THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 


THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 


CHAPTER  I 

George  Spenser  stood  outside  the  wooden  door 
which  formed  one  entrance  into  his  garden,  and 
watched  the  narrow  lane  that  led  to  it.  Ellice 
Bastien  was  already  due  to  arrive,  and  he  partic- 
ularly wanted  to  see  her  come  up  in  the  sunlight, 
between  the  immense  elm-trees  on  either  side.  It 
was  just  in  places  such  as  this,  and  in  full  sun- 
shine, that  she  looked  her  best. 

It  was  her  first  visit  to  him.  Never  before  in  the 
three  years  of  their  curious  love  affair  had  she 
consented  to  visit  alone  at  his  house,  and  chape- 
roned he  had  not  desired  to  have  her.  The  whole 
grace  of  the  incident  would  under  those  conditions 
have  ceased  to  exist.  And  now-  suddenly,  to  a  re- 
quest made  almost  in  jest,  she  had  responded  with 
a  serious  affirmative.  So  he  waited  to  receive  her 
— by  her  own  request  at  the  gate  of  his  garden, 
and  not  at  the  station,  as  he  had  proposed;  in 
consenting  to  this  visit  it  was  obvious  she  had 
not  lost  sense  of  its  indiscretion,  and,  though 
drawn  to  disregard  the  latter  circumstance,  re- 
mained little  desirous  of  being  discovered. 

George  Spenser  meanwhile,  as  he  stood  waiting 
for  the  long-delayed,  much-petitioned  visit,  was 


2228499 


4  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

conscious  that  it  should  have  been  made  sooner. 
Not  that  he  felt  without  pleasure  in  the  prospect, 
only  the  pleasure  was  less  than  it  would  have 
been  a  year,  or  even  six  months,  earlier.  There 
were  circumstances  now  to  mar  it  slightly,  and  a 
precious  occurrence,  like  a  precious  thing,  should 
be  without  flaw. 

Why  she  had  at  this  late  hour  retracted  her 
long-retained  prudery  puzzled  him.  Watching  the 
powdery  road  into  which  she  should  shortly  enter, 
he  felt  the  inexplicability  of  her  tardy  visit  to 
be  almost  irritating.  Ellice  Bastien  was  not  a 
woman  ever  abandoned  to  sudden  and  overpow- 
ering impulses.  He  could  not  entirely  persuade 
himself,  therefore,  that  she  had  not,  in  coming, 
some  reason  beside  that  given. 

"We  will  celebrate  my  birthday  in  your  garden," 
was  the  explanation  tendered,  and  in  the  face  of 
three  years'  unswerving  refusal  it  struck  him  as 
somewhat  thin  to  conviction. 

To  cavil,  however,  at  a  good  thing  is  foolish, 
and  George  Spenser  admitted  that  if  it  was  a 
little  late,  and  if  there  were  one  or  two  matters 
to  disturb  whole-hearted  enjoyment,  still,  her  com- 
ing decorated  the  day  sweetly  as  fresh-cut  roses  a 
solitary  chamber.  To  sit  out  the  hours  of  sum- 
mer sun  with  her  in  the  shade  of  his  garden,  and 
see  her  pretty  head  against  the  gloom  of  the 
green,  and  her  pretty  movements  amidst  the  color 
of  his  flower  borders,  would  certainly  prove 
charming  to  him.  After  all,  his  house  would 
hold  something  afterward  it  had  not  possessed 
before.  It  would  be  enriched  throughout,  once 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  5 

she  had  journeyed  with  her  trailing  skirts  through 
every  part  of  it.  With  his  knack  of  vivid  remem- 
brance he  would  subsequently  be  able  to  recall 
at  will  how  she  had  stood  there,  what  winning 
gesture  she  had  made  here,  in  what  fashion  the 
effect  of  one  room  had  influenced  her  appearance, 
in  what  another.  For,  after  all,  there  was  no 
one  who  could  affect  him  as  Ellice  did.  Come  to 
what  cooling-point  he  might,  Ellice  still  tri- 
umphed. She  dominated  even  when  the  heart 
ceased  leaping  in  her  company.  A  few  minutes 
of  her  presence,  and  even  when  emotion  kept  tran- 
quil, attention  continued  delighted  and  aroused. 
At  that  moment  the  woman  herself  entered  the 
sun-suffused  lane.  Instantly  Spenser  was  able  to 
assure  himself  that,  regardless  of  its  drawbacks, 
her  arrival  did  cause  a  very  large  amount  of 
pleasure.  As  he  had  expected,  she  looked  her 
best  as  she  walked  leisurely  toward  him.  The 
sun  streamed  on  her,  in  front  of  her,  behind  her. 
She  was  set  in  a  haze  cf  gold,  and  the  parasol 
she  held  to  shield  her  face  was  flecked  and  pat- 
terned, like  the  skirt  of  her  light-colored  dress, 
by  the  leaves  of  the  trees  she  walked  under.  She 
seemed  all  light,  color,  and  delicate  grace,  and 
as  she  neared  him  Spenser  reflected  afresh  how 
astoundingly  she  contrived  to  make  herself  al- 
ways from  head  to  foot  attractive,  personal, 
complete.  To-day  she  was  a  vista  of  gayety  and 
sunlight.  Her  big  hat  of  leghorn  straw  had  a 
large  rose-colored  bow;  her  mauve  lawn  dress 
was  soft,  fastidious,  fluttering.  She  looked  just 
as  a  woman  should  look  for  a  day's  holiday  and 


6  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

a  day's  sunshine,  in  tune,  dainty,  "spirituel"  -with- 
out flippancy,  "joyeuse"  without  noise  and  with- 
out excitement. 

"My  dear,  I  am  glad  to  have  you  here." 

He  took  both  her  hands,  and  imperilled  her 
hold  of  the  rose-colored  sunshade.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  his  pleasure  had  risen  enormously  at  the 
sight  of  her.  It  was  just  the  day  to  pass  with 
Ellice — just  the  day  and  place  to  make  love  to 
her.  He  would  kiss  her  in  every  part  of  the  gar- 
den. To  kiss  Ellice  in  a  garden  could  not  but  be 
exquisite.  The  fragrance  of  the  garden  and  the 
fragrance  of  her  hair  would  mingle.  She  looked 
fresh  as  a  flower  or  a  child,  standing  opposite  to 
him  under  the  glow  of  her  pink  parasol.  The 
rosy  lips  slightly  parted  showed  small  white  teeth 
like  flakes  of  snow  fallen  in  between.  And  the  cool 
pale  cheeks,  whose  absence  of  color  had  never- 
theless an  appearance  of  such  perfect  healthiness, 
were  smooth  and  soft  as  a  little  schoolgirl's. 

Spenser  drew  her  through  the  garden  gate  with 
a  brief  querulous  sigh.  She  was  so  charming,  it 
was,  after  all,  absurd  to  let  a  creature  of  such 
rarity  slip  through  one's  fingers  into  the  grip  of 
another  person.  But  it  was  a  grotesque  world 
throughout,  and  must  be  realized  as  such. 

"A  happy  birthday,  sweet,"  he  said,  when  they 
had  turned  into  the  pathway  and  he  had  kissed 
her  several  times. 

"It  is  going  to  be  a.  perfect  birthdajV  answered 
the  woman,  smiling.  "Though  at  the  same  time 
the  'finale'  to  happy  birthdays." 

"My  dear,  why?" 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  7 

Quite  a  chill  -wave  passed  over  him  in  the  sun- 
light. That  it  did  so  was  absurd,  since  the  very 
circumstance  vaguely  foreshadowed  in  her  remark 
was  the  one  he  himself  must  later — only  not  till 
the  day's  termination — carefully  propound  to  her. 
Nevertheless,  he  did  not  like  the  sound  of  her 
sudden  statement. 

"Because  I  grow  old.  Birthdays  are  only  happy 
when  they  mark  the  immense  period  of  youth 
still  ahead.  I  am  twenty-eight  to-day.  Next 
birthday  will  be  melancholy  with  the  approach 
of  the  crucial  period  thirty,  after  which  conies 
the  chilling  slide  into  middle  age.  Therefore  it 
beseems  to-day  to  be  quite  perfect,  for  after  to- 
day I  face  the  fact  that  I  am  getting  every  minute 
older  than  is  desirable." 

"My  dear,  I  was  forty  in  April.  You  are  a  child 
in  comparison.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  have 
never  yet  looked  quite  grown  up.  Still,  it  is  time 
we  settled  down.  We  have  been  butterflies  long 
enough." 

They  were  walking  slowly  down  the  gravel  path 
that  ran  like  a  yellow  thread  between  beds  of 
hollyhocks,  carnations,  and  campanulas.  At  his 
remark  Ellice  Bastien  suddenly  stood  still.  Was 
it  she  who  now  suffered  an  unreasonable  shiver? 
he  wondered  curiously,  and  not  without  a  futile 
regret.  Apparently,  however,  she  merely  stopped 
to  pick  herself  a  white  carnation. 

"Which  of  us  do  you  propose  should  settle 
down?"  she  asked  carelessly,  when  she  had  gath- 
ered it. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  eyes  abso- 


8  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

lutcly  undisturbed.  Ellice  had  soft,  shining  eyes, 
rather  like  a  tender-hearted  child's.  To  Spenser 
their  chief  charm  lay  in  their  freedom  from  mo- 
dernity—its vexations,  its  doubts,  its  melancholia. 
Not  that  they  were  expressionless;  on  the  con- 
trary, they  possessed  abundant  emotional  quali- 
ties. They  could  laugh,  make  love,  appeal,  per- 
suade, with  a  power  and  spontaneity  he  had 
never  seen  equalled.  By  leaving  alone  the  affairs 
of  the  universe,  apparently,  they  had  been  plen- 
ished  instead  with  personal  qualities.  And  El- 
lice's  specialty  was  above  all  to  be  persuading, 
and  clean  of  corrosive  morbidities. 

At  the  present  moment,  however,  he  did  not 
like  the  carelessness  of  their  expression.  To  be 
insouciante  is  one  thing,  shallow  another.  He 
did  not  wish  to  learn  that  Ellice  possessed  no 
feeling  worthy  the  appellation.  Not  to  dwell  on 
deep  emotions  had  been  an  art  in  her,  but  an  art 
he  had  always  supposed  merely  a  delicate  veil 
flung  over  passionate  feeling  to  heighten  its  nor- 
mal beauty.  This  talk  of  settling  down  should 
at  least  bring  a  second's  rippling  to  their  seren- 
ity. He  replied  in  consequence  with  more  lucidity 
than  he  had  intended: 

"Both  of  us.    It  is  time  we  got  married,  Ellice." 
This  time  her  eyes  had  for  a  second  an  eager 
expression. 

"May  I  inquire  whom  we  are  to  marry?" 
"Don't  be  supercilious,  Ellice:  you  know  it  an- 
noys me.    Later  on  I  will  suggest  whom  it  would 
be  wise  of  us  to  marry ;  but  it  is  a  matter  that 
can  wait.    At  present  there  is  Ellice' s  present  to 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  9 

give  her,  and  Ellice's  lunch  to  see  about.  When 
we  leave  the  flower-garden  the  real  charm  of  the 
place  begins,  as  you  will  see.  True,  the  trees  en- 
croach too  much,  nothing  grows  as  it  should, 
and  the  place  is  as  gloomy  as  its  owner." 

She  abandoned  the  marriage  question  instantly, 
as  if  a  trifle  handled  by  accident,  and  not  worth 
continuing  seriously.  With  an  ease  that  once  more 
against  his  will  irritated  her  companion,  she 
entered  into  the  festal  possibilities  of  the  day. 
Throughout  their  journey  over  the  garden,  while 
guarding  any  love  passages  from  a  hint  of  in- 
tensity, she  kissed  and  played  with  the  shimmer- 
ing grace  of  a  butterfly.  Only  when  they  came  in 
sight  of  the  house  did  she  drop  lightness,  careful 
of  the  possible  eyes  of  his  domestics. 

The  house  was  a  large  white  building,  set  in 
immense  elms,  firs,  and  chestnuts.  These  pressed 
up  against  it,  overshadowing  and  darkening  every 
side,  except  where  one  row  of  upper  windows 
overlooked  a  space  of  lawn. 

Ellice  stood  on  the  dry  grass  and  looked  at  the 
queer-shaped  shadows  flung  everywhere.  Trees 
shut  in  the  place  on  every  side,  and  gave  an  un- 
natural appearance  of  gloom  and  seclusion  to  the 
environment.  Imagination  was  easily  loosened 
by  it.  Contact  with  the  outside  world  had  been 
so  completely  cut  off;  the  latter  lost  hold  upon 
intelligence.  To  look  on  any  side  was  to  see 
nothing  but  dark  masses  of  enclosing  trees.  Even 
to  look  up  was  to  perceive  the  sky,  not  as  a 
dome,  but  as  an  irregular-shaped  piece  of  blue, 
set  in  foliage  also, 


10  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

Upon  the  woman,  at  least,  the  overtopping  trees 
produced  a  singular  effect.  They  surrounded  the 
place  so  absolutely  they  seemed  to  make  of  it  a 
little  world  of  its  own.  Anything  might  happen 
there.  The  atmosphere  was  heavy  with  poten- 
tialities. 

"Your  house  is  a  little  sinister,  George,"  she 
said,  standing  like  a  mauve  flower  upon  the  lawn 
— "sinister  and  foreboding.  It  is  full  of  person- 
ality, but  I  am  not  sure  that  it  does  not  think 
of  evil  things.  Ah,  I  know ! — your  house  is  like 
a  woman,  and  the  trees  are  her  lovers.  It  is 
they  who  are  evil,  and  who  corrupt  her  thoughts. 
Cut  down  that  mass  of  trees  there  and  those 
round  the  entrance,  and  she  would  breathe  freely 
again.  More,  with  a  woman's  quick  adaptability, 
she  would  turn  respectable  on  the  instant." 

"My  dear  Ellice,  now  and  again  you  make  me 
wonder.  You  look  like  a  parlor  boarder,  you 
behave  like  a  prudish  angel,  while  just  now  and 
then  you  talk  as  if  you  possessed  a  good  deal  of 
the  devil.  Are  you  a  devil  or  an  angel,  Ellice?" 

She  put  her  parasol  at  the  back  of  her  head, 
and  reflected  with  her  lips  slightly  apart. 

Spenser  adored  her  when  her  mouth  unclosed 
in  this  fashion.  Her  teeth  were  so  beautiful, 
dimly  apprehended  between  the  rosy  gayety  of 
her  lips.  For  the  small  white  teeth,  more  than 
anything,  he  had  coined  fantastic  praises  during 
the  three  years  of  their  singular  love-story.  Some- 
times they  struck  him  as  the  drifted  petals  of  a 
white  rose,  sometimes  as  being  like  a  narrow 
strip  of  moon  emerging  through  the  crimson  of 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  11 

sunset,  sometimes  as  recalling  a  little  stream  of 
sparkling  water  one  craved  to  press  one's  feverish 
mouth  against. 

"Dear,  I  am  not  in  the  mood  for  confession, 
and  I  leave  the  decision  in  your  hands.  Only, 
believe  me,  to  be  a  devil  is  mostly  to  lack  imag- 
ination. Oh!  is  that  our  lunch  being  laid  out 
under  the  trees?  How  pretty  it  looks!  Have 
you  got  me  nice  things  to  eat  and  champagne 
to  drink?  Yes,  after  all,  I  like  your  house;  and 
you  are  right,  George — it  is  heart-breaking  to  try 
and  keep  it  up  on  four  hundred  pounds  a  year." 

"My  dear,  in  this  immense  place  I  keep  in  the 
house  itself  only  a  man  and  his  wife.  It  is  all  I 
can  afford,  and  the  whole  building  is  falling  to 
pieces  for  want  of  repairs." 

For  the  first  time  the  woman  realized  that  her 
friend  had  strong  incentives  to  marry  for  money. 
Without  profession,  his  interests  must  necessarily 
be  to  a  large  extent  centred  upon  this  rambling 
residence.  And  to  possess  it  in  the  fashion  he  did 
now,  with  both  land  and  house  growing  wild  for 
lack  of  means  to  maintain  order,  could  only  con- 
stitute an  unceasing  irritation.  She  was  at  all 
times  sorry  for  George  Spenser.  His  ill-health 
alone  kept  a  thread  of  pity  drawn  through  all 
her  feelings  for  him.  But  consciousness  of  the 
entirety  of  his  existence's  disappointment  had 
never  been  so  sharp  as  it  was  while  she  walked 
with  him  under  the  shade  of  the  trees  in  his  gar- 
den. In  truth,  nothing  had  gone  well  with  the 
man.  From  his  birth  the  undesirable  had  hap- 
pened, for  his  mother  died  as  he  came  into  the 


12  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

world.  During  childhood  his  father,  an  officer 
quartered  in  India,  had  left  him,  terms  and  holi- 
days alike,  at  a  boarding-school  in  England. 

Subsequently  George  Spenser  also  had  passed 
into  the  army,  and  in  his  regiment,  at  least,  El- 
lice  understood,  had  been  extremely  happy.  The 
fever  for  promotion  -was  in  the  marrow  of  his 
bones,  and  the  life  itself  was  barely  congenial  to 
him.  Then  he  had  an  attack  of  rheumatic  fever, 
recovered,  and  a  year  later  broke  a  blood-vessel 
in  the  left  lung.  It  was  a  catastrophe  that  had 
ruined  his  life. 

Obliged  to  give  up  the  army,  he  had  spent 
years  creeping  from  one  foreign  health-resort  to 
another,  solely  occupied  in  eluding  the  hankering 
fingers  of  Death.  At  last  he  had  recovered  suffi- 
ciently to  be  considered  healed.  He  returned  to 
England,  lean,  embittered,  with  every  possible 
ambition  burnt  up  in  him,  and  with  nothing  to 
anticipate  but  an  existence  of  constant  watch- 
fulness against  a  recurrence  of  disease.  How  he 
had  lived  for  the  next  eighteen  months  Ellice  had 
no  notion — probably  on  an  allowance  from  his 
father.  Then,  quite  unexpectedly,  his  father  died, 
leaving  him  Rook  House  certainly,  since,  as  en- 
tailed property,  he  had  no  option  to  do  other- 
wise, but,  except  for  the  sum  of  four  hundred 
pounds  a  year,  willing  every  penny  to  a  mistress 
his  son  had  never  even  heard  of. 

It  was  the  more  deplorable  since  keeping  up  the 
place  left  him  was  the  one  interest  George  Spen- 
ser's ill-health  allowed  him  thoroughly  to  enjoy. 
Under  present  conditions  his  existence  had  become 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  13 

meaningless.  By  temperament  both  ambitious 
and  active,  he  passed  life  in  an  apathetic  dearth 
of  every  congenial  occupation. 

Touched  by  compassion,  the  woman  slipped  her 
fingers  through  his  as  they  entered  the  house. 
Only  three  living-rooms  were  in  use :  the  dining- 
room,  the  library,  and  a  music-room  opening  out 
of  the  library.  The  tone  of  all  these  apartments 
was  sombre.  Ellice  Bastien  felt  oppressed  by 
them. 

"Your  rooms  are  terribly  in  earnest,  George," 
she  said,  by  way  of  comment. 

"Poverty  generally  is,"  he  replied  pettishly. 
Then,  looking  at  her  as  she  sat  in  a  big  chair  in 
the  library,  his  face  softened.  "It  suits  you  to 
perfection,  dear.  You  look  so  sweetly  frivolous 
in  this  room,  I  could  laugh  merely  to  look  at 
you." 

Only  to  Ellice  Bastien  did  the  harshness  of  Spen- 
ser's delivery  ever  diminish.  She  knew  a  softness 
in  his  voice  no  other  woman  had  ever  heard  in 
it.  He  used  it  now,  and  for  a  second  she  closed 
her  eyelids. 

"The  heat  is  insufferable  in  the  house.  Let  us 
go  out,  George,  into  the  garden  again.  Where 
the  hammock  is  swung  under  the  trees  it  looks 
delightful." 

When  they  reached  it,  the  man-servant  was  still 
furnishing  a  table  with  luncheon.  Two  white 
wicker  chairs  were  drawn  up  to  it.  In  the  ham- 
mock had  been  flung  a  quantity  of  old  brocade 
cushions. 

Ellice  drew  up  to  the  white  table  with  a  con- 


14  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

tented  smile.  Spenser,  however,  was  not  hungry  ; 
the  pink  bow  of  his  companion's  large  leghorn 
hat,  the  pink  bow  tied  on  one  side  of  her  soft 
chin,  the  pink  of  her  lips,  the  faint  suggestion  of 
pink  come  into  her  cheeks,  absorbed  him.  They 
had  for  the  man  an  intoxicating  grace.  The  very 
soul  of  what  he  loved,  the  rosy,  delicate  joyful- 
ness  of  summer  and  of  youth,  seemed  to  have 
radiantly  poised  itself  upon  them. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  afternoon  was  waning.  Ellice  Bastien  lay 
in  the  hammock  watching  the  gold  haze  of  sun- 
light illumine  the  leaves  above  her  head.  She 
would  have  liked  to  wait  until  that  ceased,  and 
then  watch,  instead,  for  the  rose  patches  between 
the  green,  yielded  by  the  sun's  setting.  And  after- 
wards, still  to  lie  on  undisturbed,  until  the  silver 
of  the  moon  washed  the  lawn  before  the  house 
with  an  inexplicable  pallor,  as  if  the  green  had 
been  some  woman's  cheek,  blanched  by  unspeak- 
able horrors. 

When  the  man-servant  in  a  greasy  black  suit 
brought  out  tea,  she  roused  herself  to  resume 
conversation.  For  about  ten  minutes  she  had 
not  spoken.  George  Spenser,  however,  reckoned 
these  occasional  lapses  in  silence  as  one  of  her 
most  charming  qualities.  For  Ellice  Bastien  could 
be  silent  without  seeming  to  be  concerned  with 
serious  matters.  She  appeared  placid  only,  and 
gave  Spenser  the  impression  that  for  the  most 
part  she  was  simply  abandoned  to  a  vague  sense 
of  well  being.  Once  or  twice  curiosity  had  in- 
duced him  to  break  one  of  these  meditations. 
He  had  asked  what  she  was  thinking  of.  To 
his  great  relief,  she  replied  on  each  occasion: 
"Nothing,  that  I  know  of.  I  was  just  contented"  ; 
and  he  had  thanked  Providence  that  there  was 
still  a  woman  left  in  existence  who  did  not  want 


16  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

to  be  considered  deep  as  a  well,  beneath  a  lid  of 
superficialities. 

He  himself,  during  this  afternoon's  brief  break 
in  conversation,  had  thought  definitely  enough 
both  of  himself  and  her.  Since  she  had  arrived, 
his  sense  of  having  cooled  to  the  steady  calm  of 
friendship  had  taken  on  elements  of  uncertainty. 
Here  in  his  garden  she  gave  him,  with  a  force 
almost  forgotten  latterly,  the  impression  of  pos- 
sessing an  unquenchable  fount  of  fascination.  All 
the  time  that  she  lay  in  the  hammock,  thrown 
into  relief  by  the  sombre  foliage  about  her,  he 
experienced  with  a  renewed  sharpness  how  ab- 
solutely she  contained  the  qualities  he  worshipped 
most — possibly  for  lack  of  them.  Health  perme- 
ated her — health  and  gayety ;  and  as  an  outcome 
of  these  two  things  also  unflagging  courage  in 
the  face  of  all  vicissitudes.  It  might  be  shallow- 
to  float  so  optimistically  over  the  perturbed  wa- 
ters of  existence ;  it  might  be  heartless,  so  many 
horrors  seething  under  one's  little  shallop;  but 
how  the  gay  floating  thing  cheered  the  eyesight, 
and  through  its  dauntless  courage  renewed  one's 
lungs  with  freshness!  Spenser,  who  felt  so  con- 
tinuously the  despairing  side  to  man's  brief  ca- 
reer, could  have  risen  in  the  middle  of  his  reflec- 
tions and  irrelevantly  embraced  his  companion, 
in  gratitude  for  her  untarnished  lightness. 

Never  had  his  own  absurdity  in  avoiding  mar- 
riage with  her  struck  him  more  penetratingly 
than  it  did  for  a  minute  or  two  as  he  watched 
her  playing  with  the  jewel  he  had  flung  upon 
her  lap  after  luncheon.  Every  birthday  and  every 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  17 

Christmas  since  the  commencement  of  their  love 
affair  he  gave  her  some  trinket  in  topazes  and 
diamonds,  usually  after  pawning  one  of  the  old 
objets  (fart  scattered  about  the  house. 

To-day  he  had  given  her  an  old  shoe-buckle,  for 
use  as  a  clasp  at  the  waist.  She  was  holding  it 
up  to  make  the  thin  rays  of  sunlight  coming  be- 
tween the  leaves  play  upon  the  stones.  Undoubt- 
edly she  was  the  only  woman  he  had  ever  sin- 
cerely cared  for.  More,  she  was  the  only  woman 
who  had  ever  sincerely  cared  for  him.  Her  in- 
fluence for  this  last  fact  alone  remained  uncon- 
querable, its  sweetness,  after  realization  of  being 
a  failure  with  the  sex,  having  a  unique  character 
to  him.  For  three  years  she  had  softened  and 
ameliorated  his  life,  and,  nevertheless,  during  all 
that  period  he  had  resisted  with  the  whole  force 
of  his  nature  the  craving  to  be  more  than  a  de- 
voted friend  to  her.  The  feelings  she  roused  were 
too  sanctifying  to  destroy  by  marriage.  This 
was  the  argument  by  which  he  barricaded  himself 
against  any  definite  proposal  to  her. 

But  from  the  beginning  it  had  been  a  singular 
love  affair.  They  had  met  one  evening  at  an  "at 
home"  given  by  a  mutual  acquaintance.  She  had 
played  a  few  pieces  of  Greig's  charmingly,  risen 
from  the  piano,  and  walked  across  the  room  to 
take  a  chair  left  vacant  near  to  where  Spenser 
was  sitting.  As  she  came  unconsciously  toward 
him,  Spenser  decided  that,  at  any  cost,  they  must 
be  made  known  to  one  another.  Her  mouth 
alone,  with  its  smiling,  careless  grace,  affected 
him  to  an  extent  quite  unprecedented.  They  were 


18  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

introduced  at  his  request,  and  she  talked  neither 
smartly  nor  foolishly.  That  she  was  happy, 
however,  her  face,  her  voice,  her  manner,  pro- 
claimed incessantly.  Not  a  shadow  of  grief  or 
yearning  darkened  her  eyes  or  aged  her  lips. 
Spenser  loved  her  in  an  hour,  conscious  that  she 
would  haunt  his  life  from  that  evening  as  the 
one  woman  perfect  as  a  flower — the  one  lovely 
woman  he  had  ever  met  who  did  not  tarnish 
her  beauty,  either  by  an  artificial  melancholy  or 
an  artificial  worldliness.  Before  the  end  of  their 
conversation,  moreover,  he  had  assured  himself 
that  she  could  be  serious  without  pessimism, 
•without  complaint,  and  without  weltschmerz. 
A  content  as  delicate  as  the  threads  of  her  sim- 
mering hair  appeared  to  saturate  her  disposi- 
tion. 

Frankly  requesting  a  re-meeting,  it  had  been 
granted  cordially.  Miss  Bastien  lived  with  her 
widowed  aunt  in  Kensington,  and  permitted  him 
to  call  upon  her  there.  Each  time  he  saw  her 
she  influenced  him  more.  In  a  month  her  pres- 
ence became  the  one  delight  he  felt  himself  to  live 
for.  His  chill  temperament  warmed  for  the  first 
time  to  ungrudging  appreciation.  Also,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  relations  to  women,  he  had  a  sense 
of  being,  through  sheer  need,  helpless  and  feeble 
as  a  child.  This  simple  longing  for  Ellice  Bas- 
tien both  appalled  and  fascinated  him  in  its  in- 
tensity. At  thirty-eight  to  experience  an  unpre- 
cedented emotion  of  sufficient  force  to  become  a 
prey  to  it  had  a  singular  attraction.  Once  be- 
fore, certainly,  he  had  genuinely  loved  a  woman. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  19 

As  a  boy  of  seventeen  he  had  idolized  a  nursery 
governess,  and  they  had  kissed,  as  youth  should, 
long  and  frequently.  But  there  had  been  no  rep- 
etition of  sentimental  disturbance. 

Unattractive  to  women — having  at  heart  a  keen 
contempt  for  them — he  had  grown  to  accept  the 
inability  to  feel  extremely  and  tenderly  as  part 
of  his  temperament.  And  suddenly,  in  the  soured, 
ill-health-vitiated  maturity  of  his  life,  came  an 
affection  scarcely  brushed  by  passion,  and  con- 
taining surprising  elements  of  admiration,  humil- 
ity, consternation — an  affection  fresh  as  a  school- 
boy's in  its  vigor  and  absorption. 

Nevertheless,  three  months  later  he  frankly  im- 
plored Ellice  Bastien  not  to  marry  him,  and  so 
drag  down  the  one  lovely  episode  of  his  life  to 
the  commonplace  level  of  the  rest.  There  was  not 
money  enough  on  either  side  for  a  happy  mar- 
riage, the  girl  having  only  a  hundred  pounds  a 
year  of  her  own,  he  a  beggarly  four  hundred. 

Moreover,  genuinely,  Spenser  discredited  his 
own  capacity  to  continue  faithful  to  so  abnormal 
an  affection.  Married,  harassed,  ill,  its  shimmer 
must  inevitably  be  brushed  off.  Passion  would 
enter  in  to  corrupt  and  destroy,  habit  and  entire 
understanding  add  their  weight  to  torporize.  He 
recalled  grimly  how  he  had  loathed  the  few  flirta- 
tions of  his  past  after  a  short  time  of  intimacy, 
and  felt,  without  conscious  affectation,  that  any 
abnegation  was  preferable  to  spoliation  of  his 
one  suave  and  unique  adoration. 

What  Ellice  Bastien  thought  had  never  been 
shown  either  through  words  or  facial  expression. 


20  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

She  had,  of  course,  acquiesced  with  consummate 
grace.  More,  she  had  clarified  by  plausible  sen- 
tences the  notions  he  experienced  difficulty  in  find- 
ing words  for.  It  became  in  her  hands  a  definite 
theory  that  to  love  exceedingly,  and  then  marry, 
was  to  haul  down  an  emotion  meant  to  be  a 
pedestalled  remembrance  for  the  rest  of  life.  No 
real  lover,  man  or  woman,  should  sink  to  the  dull 
mood  of  husband  or  -wife.  After  such  love  as 
theirs,  for  instance,  what  agony  to  descend  to 
petty  squabbles,  to  the  incessant  sordid  fight  of 
keeping  body  and  soul  together,  to  a  familiarity 
at  which  worship  slunk  derisive  away.  Rich, 
they  might  have  manipulated  marriage  with  a 
care  which  would  have  rendered  it  only  trivially 
disconcerting. 

But  Ellice's  charm,  as  Spenser  felt  it,  was  the 
combination  of  many  things,  perfection  of  dress 
and  perfection  of  untroubled  composure  going  to 
the  making  of  it.  It  was  Ellice  herself,  it  is  true, 
smiling  her  childishly  bright  smile,  who  put  a  good 
deal  of  this  into  words  for  him.  Her  utterances, 
however,  fitted  his  thoughts  so  closely  that  from 
that  day  they  had  drifted  into  the  unlabelled, 
undefined  relationship  which  had  continued  ever 
since,  its  duration  due,  probably,  to  the  sense  of 
expectancy  that  lurked  at  its  roots — the  wide 
doors  left  open  to  possibility. 

Yet  during  the  last  year  or  so  Spenser  had  oc- 
casionally congratulated  himself  on  the  insight 
of  his  matrimonial  abstinence.  As  he  had  fore- 
seen, all  dulls  and  deadens.  Ellice  remained  his 
delightful  friend,  but  she  was  no  longer  an  obses- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  21 

sion,  and  he  had  no  longer  active  regrets  over 
insufficiency  of  her  society. 

The  irritating  thing  was  that  just  to-day,  of 
all  days,  he  should  feel  a  revival  of  intenseness. 
But,  then,  never  had  she  looked  more  charming, 
more  reposeful,  more  fresh.  In  the  insufferable 
heat  she  remained  cool  as  the  breeze  of  morning, 
and  delicately  airy  as  a  butterfly. 

Just  then  she  lifted  herself  up  and  came  to  the 
tea-table.  Having  poured  out  tea,  she  leaned  her 
elbows  on  the  table  and  smiled  at  him. 

"My  dear  Bruno,  you  are  very  deep  in  thought. 
Is  the  little  Bear  permitted  to  know  them?  And, 
by  the  way,  too,  may  I  ask  before  I  go  who  it 
is  decided  we  should  marry?" 

Spenser  felt  angrily  as  she  spoke,  that  one  has, 
after  all,  to  pay  for  the  charm  of  optimism.  El- 
lice's  was  undoubtedly  a  light  nature.  Obviously 
she  had  no  feeling  for  him,  except  as  one  foremost 
in  the  crowd  of  worshippers. 

"My  dear  girl,  it  is  not  decided  we  should  marry 
at  all.  Nevertheless,  as  I  said  before,  it  is  time 
we  thought  of  settling  down.  Soon,  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  at  least,  it  will  be  too  late,  and 
solitary  old  age  is  chilling  to  the  bones." 

She  stared  at  him  placidly. 

"In  other  words,  the  larger  Bear  is  about  to 
marry.  Who  are  you  about  to  marry,  George?" 

He  liked  neither  the  unconcern  of  her  expres- 
sion nor  the  directness  of  her  question.  In  fact, 
he  detested  both.  The  desire  to  fence  and  deny 
rose  immediately.  But  she  was  still  Ellice,  the 
one  woman  he  felt  repugnance  to  humbugging. 


22  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

Besides,  she  must  be  told.  Already  it  -was  per- 
haps somewhat  late  to  break  facts  to  her,  since 
any  day  she  might  hear  disagreeably  from  other 
people. 

"Dear  friend,  I  do  not  know,  as  I  said  before, 
that  I  am  going  to  marry  any  one.  There  is  a 
lady  I  have  some  thoughts,  certainly,  of  asking 
to  be  my  -wife,  but  whether  she  will  have  me  is 
another  question.  I  should  think  it  highly  im- 
probable." 

He  felt  he  had  told  it  clumsily,  and  the  knowl- 
edge increased  his  irritability.  Ellice  looked  at 
him  reflectively. 

"She  has  money,  of  course.  You  will  be  able 
to  keep  up  Rook  House  in  the  way  you  want?" 

"Yes,  she  has  money." 

Again  the  baldness  of  his  sentence  annoyed  him, 
but  for  his  life  he  could  neither  have  lengthened 
nor  adorned  it.  The  worst,  moreover,  was  to 
come.  She  could  only  ask  next  the  name  of  the 
lady.  He  tilted  his  chair  back  and  contemplated 
the  leaves  behind  her  head.  It  would  be  a  relief, 
certainly,  when  the  next  question  was  a  thing  of 
the  past.  Unknown  to  him,  but  not  to  his  com- 
panion, his  breath  came  audibly.  To  his  intense 
surprise,  and  having  prepared  every  nerve  for  it 
to  his  disappointment,  she  did  not  even  continue 
the  conversation.  She  got  up  and  held  out  two 
strawberry-stained  hands  to  him. 

"Can  I  wash  my  hands?  And  it  is  almost  time 
I  put  on  my  hat  again." 

"Of  course;  Mrs.  Temple  shall  attend  to  you. 
Come,  dirty  child." 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  23 

He  took  her  by  the  hand  towards  the  house, 
but  the  resentment  in  his  mind  was  unmistak- 
able. The  woman  took  no  notice,  but  as  he  de- 
livered her  into  the  hands  of  the  housekeeper  she 
turned  to  him  with  a  laugh  full  of  freshness  and 
amusement. 

'*!  am  very  interested,  really,  in  our  matrimo- 
nial prospects.  We  must  settle  yours  first,  because 
you  are  somewhat  the  elder,  and  then  mine.  The 
smaller  Bear  is  not  going  to  be  left  companionless 
to  have  chilly  bones,  either." 

Then,  still  laughing,  she  followed  the  impassive- 
looking  Mrs.  Temple  up  the  stairs,  leaving  Spen- 
ser to  wait  for  her  in  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  III 

She  was  ushered  into  the  one  opened  spare  bed- 
room. It  smelt  a  little  stuffy,  for  all  its  open 
-windows,  and  had  the  cold  propriety  of  any 
room  that  has  long  been  unoccupied.  Neverthe- 
less, there  were  flowers  everywhere.  Ellice  Bas- 
tien  went  up  to  the  muslin-covered  dressing-table, 
and  buried  her  face  in  a  big  bowl  of  red  roses. 
Her  friend  had  at  least  made  a  very  bower  of 
his  house  for  her  reception. 

"Ah,  miss,  Mr.  Spenser  picked  every  flower  he 
could  to  make  the  house  gay  like,  it  being  so 
much  shut  up,  and  he  'aving  ladies  to-day  and 
to-morrow,  too.  It  isn't  often  we  'ave  visitors, 
though  Mr.  Temple  and  me  looks  forward  to 
them.  It  does  make  a  change  like." 

The  girl  stood  fingering  the  roses  while  her 
escort  talked.  She  made  no  answer,  however, 
and  seemed  absorbed  in  thought.  Mrs.  Temple 
poured  hot  water  into  the  basin,  and  laid  a  towel 
conveniently  near.  Then,  seeing  that  the  lady 
continued  silent,  she  withdrew  from  the  room. 

When  she  had  gone,  the  other  began  to  wash 
her  hands.  The  placid  look  had  passed  out  of 
her  face,  and  to  some  extent  its  freshness  also. 
Immense  disheartenment  crept  round  the  lips. 
They  drooped  like  a  child's  that  would  cry,  but 
dare  not.  When  she  had  dried  her  hands,  she 
went  across  the  room  and  stood  for  a  few  min- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  25 

utes  against  the  chintz  curtains  of  the  window, 
watching  the  white  chairs  tinder  the  trees  upon 
the  lawn.  Suddenly  her  head  drooped,  and  she 
hid  it  brusquely  in  her  two  hands. 

"Oh,  God !"  she  muttered,  and  pressed  her  palms 
over  her  lips,  as  if  to  check  them  from  indiscre- 
tions. 

She  kept  her  countenance  concealed,  apparently 
until  something  that  labored  to  find  place  in  it 
had  subsided  below  the  surface  again.  Then  she 
withdrew  her  hands,  and  with  one  brief  sigh 
went  back  to  the  dressing-table.  She  combed  her 
hair,  put  on  her  hat  with  its  buoyant-looking 
rose  bow,  and  went  down-stairs. 

Spenser  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  her  feet  upon 
the  stairs. 

"Why,  you  look  quite  -white,  child;  come  out 
into  the  air  again,"  he  said,  surprised  at  her 
dulled  appearance. 

"I  must  go  in  half  an  hour,"  she  answered, 
sitting  in  the  hammock  once  more.  "I  told  auntie 
I  should  be  home  to  dinner." 

"Impossible.  You  are  to  dine  here  under  the 
trees,  with  Japanese  lanterns  above  your  head. 
I  will  feed  you  and  kiss  you  in  turns.  Then  I 
will  take  you  back  myself.  I  think  the  nightin- 
gales will  be  singing  before  then." 

"I  must  go  back  in  half  an  hour.  No,  dear, 
you  are  not  to  look  angry;  it  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion for  me  to  stay  so  late." 

"I  say  you  shall  not  go." 

Spenser's  lips  thinned  as  he  spoke,  and  his  eyes 
half  closed.  In  the  moonlight,  with  her  hair  like 


26  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

powdered  silver,  how  beautiful  to  walk  with  her ! 
The  nightingales  would  flood  the  night  with  mu- 
sic, and  he  would  hoard  henceforth  in  his  mem- 
ory one  scene  of  almost  supernatural  enchant- 
ment. He  would  not  give  it  up.  She  was  a  silly 
child  when  she  fought  for  idiotic  trifles.  Besides, 
this  was  an  incident  that  could  not  be  repeated. 
She  had  chosen  to  retain  rigid  propriety  so  long 
she  could  have  her  pleasure  once  only;  after  to- 
morrow matters  would  have  altered  too  much. 
Anger  made  him  feverish,  and  his  brow  moist- 
ened. 

"Do  you  want  to  make  me  ill,  Ellice?"  he  ex- 
claimed with  pettish  resentment. 

"No,  George,  no,"  replied  the  girl  gently. 

The  least  allusion  to  his  health  roused  her  ten- 
derness. The  temperament  of  a  robust  man  made 
bitter  ineptitudes  in  a  constitution  undermined 
by  exhausting  fevers. 

"Then  stay.  Ellice,  I  say  you  shall  not  go;  do 
you  hear?" 

"I  will  stay  another  day." 

Her  voice  had  the  low,  enticed  intonation  he 
loved.  Ellice's  voice  yielded  a  more  moving  sub- 
mission to  emotion  than  any  voice  he  had  ever 
heard.  More  than  once  during  the  past  three 
years  he  had  fled  terror-stricken  at  the  disturb- 
ance created  by  it. 

"There  will  be  no  other  day.  At  least,  it  is 
preposterous  to  postpone  pleasure." 

The  confession  had  slipped  out  before  he  realized 
its  significance.  The  statement  could  not  have 
been  made  more  inopportunely.  The  magnetized 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  27 

expression  left  the  -woman's  eyes.  She  turned  to 
the  tea-table  and  took  up  a  cocoanut  biscuit. 

"Of  course,  I  had  forgotten  the  lady.  And  she 
comes  to-morrow,  I  understand,  George,  so  you 
have  two  good  days  together.  Ellice  to-day,  and 
to-morrow  a  bettering  even  of  Ellice.  But  now  I 
•want  her  name,  and  please  don't  glare  at  me  be- 
cause I  eat  too  much.  You  know  I  love  cocoa- 
nut  biscuits,  and  that  I  adore  putting  my  teeth 
in  anything  crisp.  Tell  me,  dear  friend — for,  seri- 
ously, I  want  you  to  be  happy — who  is  the 
lady?" 

It  had  come  at  last.  Spenser  silently  damned 
himself  and  the  lady. 

"You  know  her,  child.  It  was  you,  even,  who 
introduced  us.  I  am  thinking,  if  she  will  have 
me,  of  asking  Miss  Whittacker  to  be  my  wife." 

"Gillette?" 

"Certainly.  Have  you  any  objection  to  her, 
Ellice?" 

The  latter  had  risen.  There  was  a  silence, 
sharp  as  a  blade,  between  them.  The  girl  held  to 
the  cords  of  the  hammock,  as  if  for  support.  Her 
distress  was  visibly  extreme.  Spenser,  astounded, 
recalled  her  callousness  earlier  in  the  day.  Now 
she  was  evidently  jealous,  but  the  fact  was  so 
ridiculous  he  made  no  effort  to  commence  its  dis- 
persion. 

"George,  you  cannot  marry  Miss  Whittacker. 
It  is  out  of  the  question.  Her  mother  is  impos- 
sible, the  laughing-stock  of  everybody.  She  has 
hardly  an  h  in  her  composition.  The  frank  sor- 
didness  of  the  thing  is  like  an  open  proclamation. 


28  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

Besides,  you  have  often  said  Gillette  herself— looks 
common." 

She  spoke  low  and  rapidly,  not  looking  at  him, 
while  every  note  in  her  voice  shook.  Spenser  had 
never  seen  her  moved  to  the  same  extent  before. 
The  sight  dispersed  some  measure  of  his  irritation. 
It  made  a  difference  to  know  that  the  one  woman 
who  had  sincerely  loved  him  was  full  of  love,  not 
supplied  with  it  merely  as  skimmed  milk  with 
cream. 

"I  am  not  marrying  Miss  Whittacker  for  her 
looks.  That  she  has  attractive  qualities,  you, 
•who  are  her  friend,  must  know  as  \vell  as  I.  She 
appears  to  me  to  have  a  very  beautiful  disposi- 
tion." 

"Yes,  she  has  one  of  the  most  beautiful  natures 
conceivable,  and  that  is  why  you  must  not  marry 
her.  You  do  not  love  her,  and  you  would  ruin 
her  life.  Gillette  knows  nothing  but  what  is  good 
and  holy.  That  would  aggravate  you,  and  you 
would  torture  her.  George,  I  beseech  you  not  to 
marry  Gillette.  I  quite  realize  you  must  marry 
for  money,  but  not  her.  Marry  Lady  Mary — she 
is  rich  enough  and  hard  enough." 

She  poured  her  sentences  out  in  a  passionate 
whisper.  But  they  had  already  ceased  to  charm 
him  by  their  intensity,  and  he  disliked  the  paltry 
atmosphere  of  tragedy  enveloping  the  situation. 
Besides,  she  commenced  to  be  idiotic,  flinging  at 
him  a  woman,  in  a  way,  as  pretty  as  herself— a 
woman  he  might  presumably  grow  to  have  con- 
siderable affection  for — while  imploring  him,  with 
a  voice  that  almost  broke,  to  eschew  a  union 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  29 

that  could  under  no  conceivable  circumstances 
hold  any  dangers  as  regards  his  constancy  to 
herself. 

As  it  was,  however,  Lady  Mary  formed  an  awk- 
ward interpolation.  Six  months  ago  he  had  as- 
certained that  any  offer  in  that  quarter  would 
avail  nothing.  He  owed  the  woman  in  question, 
indeed,  a  grudge  for  having  protested  upon  too 
many  occasions  that  she  detested  "sickly  men." 

"I  was  not  aware  that  hardness  in  a  woman 
was  an  attractive  quality  to  me,  Ellice.  Dear 
child,  come  and  sit  down  and  be  your  charming 
self  once  more.  This  attitude  in  you  has  almost 
an  air  of  affectation.  If  it  will  set  your  mind  at 
rest,  let  me  assure  you  that  I  entertain  for  Miss 
Whittacker  the  most  warm  and  affectionate  feel- 
ings." 

Ellice,  without  replying,  walked  slowly  away 
both  from  the  hammock  and  him. 

He  watched  her  enter  into  the  yellow  haze  of 
sunlight  outside  the  shade  in  which  they  sat.  The 
light  illuminated  her.  Even  the  thin  mauve  of 
her  gown  became  transfigured  and  luminous. 
What  beautiful  hips  she  had,  too,  standing  with 
her  head  half  turned  away  from  him.  But,  charm- 
ing as  her  figure  was,  Spenser  reflected  chiefly  how 
unmitigatedly  thankful  he  would  be  when  her 
good  sense  urged  her  to  drop  high-flown  remon- 
strances. Then  he  could  take  her  on  his  knee 
and  persuade  her,  as  usual,  that  what  he  did 
was  the  only  advisable  course  of  action. 

Fortunately,  one  could  easily  cajole  the  pretty 
smile  to  her  lips  and  the  laughter  to  her  eyes. 


30  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

Ellice  appreciated  depression  as  little  as  he  did. 
Besides,  she  had  intelligence  enough  to  see  that 
his  incurable  ill-health  made  money  a  necessity 
to  him.  Candidly  he  vowed  once  more,  as  he 
watched  her,  that  by  this  ill-health  not  only  his 
life,  but  his  character,  had  been  vitiated.  A  hun- 
dred petty  necessities  had  arisen  that  had  no  nat- 
ural soil  in  a  healthy  man.  Through  the  weak- 
ness that  had  soaked  into  his  physique  had 
sprung,  if  not  an  utterly  fresh  aspect  of  existence, 
at  least  utterly  fresh  personal  desires  from  it. 
The  sportsman,  to  begin  with,  had  been  killed  in 
him.  Active  occupations  were  no  longer  possible, 
and  the  absence  of  their  influence  slowly  made 
itself  felt  in  an  increase  of  nervous  susceptibility, 
a  slow  encroachment  of  discontent,  and  a  fretful- 
ness  of  mind  toward  existence  itself,  that  had  not 
previously  characterized  him.  For  the  most  part 
now  he  spent  his  time  fighting  against  a  physical 
lassitude  that  tended  more  and  more  to  disable 
him.  And  life  was  valueless  without  physical 
well-being.  No  man  more  keenly  than  Spenser 
realized  a  sound  constitution  as  the  first  essential 
for  happiness. 

This  marriage,  he  reflected — as  Ellice  had  in- 
sight enough  to  see  also,  if  she  chose — formed  only 
another  unsightly  consequence  of  his  shattered 
physique.  The  few  pleasures  he  could  enjoy  were 
only  procurable  with  money,  and  to  the  majority 
of  women  he  was  curiously  without  fascination. 
The  underlying  dislike  he  had  to  the  sex  obtruded 
itself  through  the  elaborate  politeness.  Women 
felt  the  absence  of  the  woman-lover. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  31 

At  that  moment  the  girl  came  toward  him 
again.  He  got  up  to  meet  her,  against  his  will, 
contrasting  her  with  the  woman  he  should  enter- 
tain in  the  same  place  to-morrow.  At  his  age, 
however,  it  was  absurd  to  be  hampered  by  senti- 
mentalities. Incontestably  it  was  desirable  he 
should  be  rich,  and  except  by  marriage  there  ap- 
peared no  way  open  for  him  to  be  so.  Naturally, 
he  would  have  preferred  to  attain  riches  through 
more  personal  and  ambitious  methods.  That  be- 
ing impossible,  however,  squeamishness  as  to  the 
exact  quantity  of  affection  given  for  illimitable 
capacity  scarcely  entered  into  calculation. 

"George,  can't  you  give  up  the  idea  of  marry- 
ing Gillette  Whittacker?  I  know  her — we  were  at 
school  together — and  her  goodness  often  makes 
me  want  to  cry  with  self-contempt.  You  will  not 
understand  her,  and  she  will  not  understand  you. 
And  Gillette  is  all  feeling — that  is,  all  fertile  ground 
for  suffering.  Bruno — dear — believe  me,  I  know 
you  both,  and  this  marriage  could  only  bring 
misery  to  you  and  to  her." 

She  came  to  him  and  laid  her  cool  cheek  against 
his  face,  resting  with  one  arm  wound  round  his 
shoulder. 

"Damn  the  other  woman!"  thought  Spenser; 
this  was  the  only  woman  worth  marrying  in 
the  universe.  Nevertheless,  he  knew  his  plans  too 
matured  for  abandonment.  If  he  agreed  to-day, 
to-morrow  he  would  merely  smile  at  an  absurd 
impulsiveness.  "Dearest,  be  good  and  sensible. 
It  is  true  I  do  not  love  Miss  Whittacker.  To  love 
any  other  woman  but  yourself,  Ellice,  is  impos- 


32  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

sible  to  me.  All  the  force  of  affection  I  have  is 
yours.  With  money  you  and  I  could  have  made 
a  perfect  marriage.  As  it  is,  I  wish  to  be  rich. 
No,  don't  wriggle  away  from  me,  I  intend  to 
be  rich,  Ellice,  and  enjoy  for  a  few  years  the 
sense,  at  least,  of  being  somebody.  I  am  not 
likely  either  to  ill-treat  my  wife  or  to  ignore  her. 
Gratitude  alone  would  prevent  that." 

Ellice  had  ceased  caressing.  She  stood  and  list- 
ened merely.  For  the  first  time  almost  in  his  ex- 
perience Spenser  saw  her  face  perturbed  and  restless. 
At  that  moment  a  fly  drove  up  to  the  front  door. 

"It  is  the  station  fly  I  ordered.  I  must  go.  To- 
day has  been  like  a  little  pastoral  up  to  now, 
but  this  has  spoilt  it.  I  love  Gillette,  I  love  you, 
but  together  I  cannot  see  either  one  or  the  other. 
However,  I  wish  you  happiness,  George,  as  you 
know." 

He  made  no  efforts  now  to  keep  her.  This  Gil- 
lette discussion  had  put  them  completely  out  of 
tune.  He  followed  her,  therefore,  toward  the  fly. 
In  passing  the  table,  half  mechanically  he  gath- 
ered up  the  roses  out  of  the  bowl  in  the  centre. 
At  the  side  of  the  house  he  kissed  her  once  or 
twice,  as  much  from  habit  as  inclination.  Annoy- 
ance made  him  feel  vapid  and  tired.  Even  Ellice 
was  temporarily  distasteful.  The  latter  allowed 
his  kisses,  but  as  she  took  the  flowers  he  held 
out  to  her  at  the  carriage  door,  he  saw  a  look 
singularly  like  contempt  travel  across  her  face. 

"Good-by,  dear,"  she  said,  however,  lightly. 
"But  I  was  right.  It  does  show  a  lack  of  imag- 
ination to  be  a  devil." 


CHAPTER  IV 

Gillette  Whittacker  knelt  at  the  side  of  her  bed, 
and  prayed  long  and  earnestly.  She  was  ready 
dressed  for  the  outing  with  her  mother  to  Rook 
House.  But  while  the  elder  lady  made  more 
lengthy  preparations,  the  girl  on  her  knees  clasped 
hands  that  trembled  through  the  intensity  of  her 
petitions.  To-day,  of  all  days,  she  needed  God's 
light  to  illuminate  her  spirit;  for  honestly  and 
sincerely  she  stood  before  an  alternative  in 
which  she  could  not  see  wherein  duty  could  be 
said  absolutely  to  lie.  The  question  that  per- 
turbed so  deeply  dealt  with  her  approaching  offer 
of  marriage.  Would  or  would  not  God  give  con- 
sent to  a  union  with  George  Spenser?  Gillette 
suffered,  prayed,  hesitated.  The  sinlessnes  of  an 
acceptance  would  not  prove  itself  incontestable, 
and  she  beat  at  her  conscience  ceaselessly  for 
some  closed  door  to  fly  open  and  pour  light  upon 
her  sore-pressed  intellect. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  at  last,  and  went  to 
the  open  window.  It  was  another  day  of  over- 
powering sunshine.  All  the  women  she  saw  wore 
hats  and  gowns  like  the  spoils  of  some  dewy 
garden.  The  charm  of  color  clung  to  every  one 
of  them  at  that  distance,  and  Gillette,  watching, 
drew  an  indrawn  breath. 

To-day,  had  it  not  been  a  sinful  vanity,  she 
would  have  liked  to  go  out  in  the  sun  radiant 

v  3 


34  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

in  flowers  and  costly  apparel.  They  charmed  the 
eyes,  and  for  once  she  could  not  quell  the  instinct 
murmuring  that  it  had  an  indefinable  attraction 
to  be  found  pleasing.  She  closed  her  eyes,  and 
prayed  to  be  kept  from  a  selfish  vanity. 

Then,  calmed  and  strengthened,  she  returned  to 
her  anxious  dubieties  as  regards  George  Spenser. 
Her  mother  had  talked  for  days  of  few  other 
subjects  besides  the  certainty  that  this  invitation 
of  to-day  was  a  delicate  preliminary  to  a  pro- 
posal of  marriage.  According  to  Mrs.  Sinclair, 
Mr.  Spenser  very  properly,  before  proceeding  fur- 
ther with  so  well  known  an  heiress,  wished  to 
show  that  he  had  a  suitable  home  to  ask  her  to. 
The  invitation  was  a  charming  and  gentlemanly 
action,  and  they  must,  of  course,  accept  it.  Be- 
sides, she — Mrs.  Sinclair — felt  particularly  anxious 
to  go  over  the  place.  They  could  see  then  what 
alterations  -would  be  necessary,  and  how  much 
money  -would  have  to  be  spent,  for  Mr.  Spenser 
had  never  made  any  concealment  as  to  the 
amount  of  his  income.  From  the  beginning  of 
their  acquaintance  he  had  never  posed  as  anything 
but  a  poor  man.  Poverty  in  his  case,  however, 
Mrs.  Sinclair  insisted,  constituted  no  drawback 
at  all.  Gillette  had  enough  money  for  both. 
Position  formed  the  real  essential — parents  one 
could  mention,  friends  in  a  good  set — a  place 
come  to  one  through  one's  ancestors. 

George  Spenser  met  her  requirements ;  therefore 
Gillette  would  of  course  marry  him  and  be  thank- 
ful. Being  so  plain,  it  was,  for  all  her  money,  a 
stroke  of  luck  to  be  proposed  to  by  a  "real  gentle- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  35 

man,"  though,  for  that  matter,  Gillette's  father 
had  been  a  gentleman,  and  her  daughter  would 
therefore  only  be  returning  to  her  right  sphere 
by  accepting  this  propitious  marriage. 

Gillette,  as  she  stood  by  the  window,  recalled 
her  mother's  conversation  merely  for  the  support 
it  offered  to  her  own  conviction  that  George 
Spenser's  attentions  truly  expressed  more  than  a 
mild  affection. 

On  the  table  by  her  austere-looking  little  bed 
was  a  glass  vase  holding  a  great  bunch  of  pink 
roses.  Almost  every  day  he  sent  some  spray  of 
flowers  to  trouble  her  virginal  heart,  until  finally 
it  seemed  to  her  that  this  disturbing  fragrance 
mutely  presaged  the  nature  of  her  future  with 
the  lover  who  made  them  almost  the  sole  but 
incessant  speakers  in  his  suit.  Nevertheless,  Gil- 
lette, though  lured  by  a  growing  sense  of  sweet 
bewilderment,  hung  back  with  a  prayer  upon  her 
lips.  Did  she  truly  love  this  man,  or  only  the  un- 
accustomed refinement  and  subtlety  of  his  woo- 
ing, the  inexpressible  charm  of  supposing  at  last 
that  she  was  loved  for  her  person,  and  not  for 
her  wealth  merely?  It  was  all  so  good,  this  un- 
precedented love-making,  these  flowers,  these  re- 
strained but  eager  notes  showered  upon  her  along 
with  them,  this  ardent  pursuance  everywhere  by 
one  person,  that  Gillette  had  grown  terrified  at 
last  of  being  drawn  into  a  mental  whirlpool, 
where  resistance  would  be  useless.  For  she  had 
a  question  to  answer  her  God  before  proceeding. 
Was  this  marriage  for  the  furthering  of  holiness 
and  one's  power  to  help  other  human  beings? 


36  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

Gillette  leaned  against  the  window-frame  and 
faced  the  fact  that  George  Spenser  was  not  a  re- 
ligious man.  He  had  himself  confessed  that. 
Could,  therefore,  such  a  marriage  receive  Christ's 
blessing?  She  almost  wailed  to  Him  to  answer 
for  her.  It  only  needed  clearness  of  knowledge, 
and  with  His  help  she  could  dissever  herself  from 
the  entangling  threads  woven  daily  closer  about 
her  affections. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs. 
Sinclair  entered  the  room.  She  was  ready  at  last, 
and  fastened  the  completing  button  of  her  glove 
as  she  came  toward  the  door.  Her  eyes  instantly 
travelled  to  her  daughter's  attire,  and  at  the  sight 
her  lips  screwed  to  a  grimace. 

"My  dear  Gillette,  couldn't  you  make  a  little 
compromise  for  this  one  occasion?  Taking  the 
weather  into  consideration,  couldn't  you  have 
worn  something  a  little  more — airy,  at  least?" 

She  spoke  plaintively,  with  eyes  journeying  un- 
satisfied over  the  girl's  person.  Gillette  had  on  a 
dark-blue  alpaca  gown,  made  in  the  plainest 
fashion.  She  wore  on  her  head  a  white  sailor 
hat  with  a  black  ribbon.  Under  its  stiff  straight 
brim  the  full  round  lines  of  the  girl's  face  were 
unsoftened  and  unconcealed,  and  her  brown  hair 
drawn  tightly  back  on  either  side  gave  it  a  bare 
look,  as  if  something  were  exposed  that  should 
have  been  hidden.  The  cheeks  seemed  too  full, 
the  head  and  temples  too  small.  And  Gillette's 
complexion,  as  her  mother  remarked  to  herself 
drearily,  condemned  any  face.  The  color  was  a 
hard  triangular  patch  on  each  side  of  her  nose ; 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  37 

moreover,  to-day,  as  if  to  farther  mar  matters, 
the  girl  had  a  little  sore  place  at  the  side  of  her 
mouth.  Mrs.  Sinclair  sighed.  He  could  not  pro- 
pose to  her.  Though  undoubtedly  he  wanted 
Gillette's  money,  even  the  girl's  mother  trembled 
for  fear  that  he  might  find  the  included  owner  a 
little  too  disheartening  for  his  courage. 

Gillette  meanwhile  stood  patiently  enduring  the 
unflattering  inspection.  It  did  not  exhilarate  her 
spirits,  and  she  prayed  silently  for  help  to  sup- 
press the  desires  of  unholiness. 

"My  dear,"  continued  Mrs.  Sinclair,  after  a 
pause,  rustling  with  a  crisp  frou-frou  of  silk  up 
to  the  looking-glass,  "is  there  really  anything 
wrong  in  a  flowered  muslin  and  a  big  hat?  It 
would  be  so  much  more  becoming,  and,  really, 
it  seems  a  little  inconsiderate  of  God  to  oblige 
you  to  dress  so  stuffily,  when  He  has  sent  weather 
'ot  enough  to  burn  a  salamander.  Besides,  He 
must  be  aware  that  Mr.  Spenser  is  human,  and " 

"Mother,  dear  mother,  please!" 

Gillette  went  up  to  the  elaborately  dressed  little 
woman  and  laid  her  cheek  softly  against  the 
other's. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  child,  don't  rub  off  all 
the  powder.  I  shall  shine  like  a  glass  if  you  do. 
Are  you  sure  I  don't  want  any  more?" 

To  make  certain,  Mrs.  Sinclair  took  a  flat  silver 
powder-box  from  her  pocket  and  repowdered  the 
ruffled  cheek.  Gillette  smiled  gently,  but  she  was 
thinking  for  once  almost  sadly  of  the  Biblical 
lines  by  which  her  apparel  was  ordered.  Instinct 
cried  out  irrepressibly  at  this  period  toward  all 


38  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

attractive  raiment.  But  in  the  Bible  it  was  writ- 
ten: "In  like  manner  also,  that  women  adorn 
themselves  in  modest  apparel,  with  shamefaced- 
ness  and  sobriety;  not  with  broidered  hair,  or 
gold,  or  pearls,  or  costly  array." 

Mrs.  Sinclair,  meanwhile  having  restored  the 
possible  havoc  made  by  Gillette's  caress,  turned 
round  again  to  her  daughter. 

"Dearie,  my  chip  hat  with  the  black  feathers — 
black  feathers,  mind,  so  suitable  and  unworldly — 
won't  you  let  me  lend  it  to  you?  Mr.  Spenser 
said,  the  other  day,  nothing  was  so  sensible  and 
becoming  this  weather  as  a  large  hat.  I  don't 
want  to  persuade  you  to  do  anything  against 
your  conscience ;  I  am  the  last  person  to  do  that. 
But  a  sailor  hat!  I  saw  the  kitchen-maid  going 
out  of  the  area-gate  last  Sunday  in  one ;  and  my 
hat  is  so  quiet,  so  really  spiritual.  Plain  black 
feathers — nothing  could  be  more  serious.  Why, 
they  put  them  on  the  horses'  heads  for  a  funeral, 
and  there  can't  very  -well  be  anything  worldly 
about  a  funeral." 

This  time  it  was  Mrs.  Sinclair  who  made  the 
overtures  of  peace.  She  sidled  up  to  her  daughter 
and  drew  her  white-gloved  fingers  caressingly  up 
and  down  the  blue  alpaca  sleeve.  But  the  spirit- 
uality of  the  black  feathers  had  proved  too  much 
for  Gillette's  gravity.  She  was  laughing  frankly. 

"Dear  mother,"  she  said,  "let  us  go.  You  shall 
attract  Mr.  Spenser,  and  I  will  smile  approval. 
Come,  you  know  I  am  hopeless,  but,  because  you 
are  a  dear  little  mother,  you  have  promised  to 
love  me  just  the  same." 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  39 

"My  dear,  you  are  lovable  enough.  That's  not 
the  point,  unfortunately.  You've  got  to  be  at- 
tractive outside  to  marry,  and  you've  got  to 
have  a  touch  of  the  devil.  Only  a  touch,  mind ; 
but  that  touch,  don't  it  tell,  that's  all!  And  I 
ought  to  know.  How  did  I  get  two  husbands, 
keep  them,  and  be  pestered  ever  since  to  take  an- 
other? Attention  to  appearance  and  that  pinch 
of  spice,  as  I  call  it.  Oh,  Gillette,  Gillette,  if  you 
weren't  so  religious  what  a  lot  I  could  do  for 


you 


i" 


This  time  Gillette  made  no  effort  to  reply,  but, 
slipping  her  arm  through  her  mother's,  drew  her 
from  the  simplicity  of  her  own  room  to  the  abun- 
dant luxury  of  the  hall  and  staircase.  It  occurred 
to  her  as  they  went  down-stairs,  though  the 
thought  was  destitute  of  malice,  that  perhaps 
both  she  and  her  mother  were  equally  unsuitably 
gowned.  Mrs.  Sinclair,  for  a  quiet  day  in  the 
country,  was  wearing  a  striped  silk  dress  she  had 
last  worn  at  a  large  garden-party;  cerise  velvet 
with  paste  buttons  encircled  the  waist  and  throat, 
and  a  large  diamond  star  flashed  upon  the  bodice 
beneath  a  magnificent  pearl  necklace ;  on  her  head 
she  had  a  pink  chiffon  toque,  turned  up  sharply 
on  one  side  to  show  a  quantity  of  waved  gold 
hair,  of  a  gold  impertinent  as  a  stare  in  its  un- 
changing fixity  of  tone.  Her  face,  round  like  her 
daughter's,  though  on  a  smaller  scale,  was  im- 
pertinent-looking also.  Fortunately,  it  was  a 
sauciness  full  of  adventure — a  recklessness  embed- 
ded deep  in  comic  perceptions.  Mrs.  Sinclair,  in 
fact,  had  the  face  of  a  comedienne,  a  laugher,  a 


40  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

good-natured,  good-hearted  bon-viveur,  anxious 
both  to  live  and  let  live  without  sourness,  with- 
out rancor,  without  condemnation.  The  round 
eyes  formed  a  myriad  wrinkles,  but  humorous, 
cheer-producing  wrinkles  come  less,  it  would 
seem,  by  age  than  by  too  much  laughing.  It 
was  a  frankly  plebeian  but  equally  frankly  genial- 
hearted  face,  and  this,  moreover,  in  spite  of  a 
flagrant  excess  of  paint  and  powder,  and  a  depth 
of  gold  fringe  sufficient  to  divide  among  a  dozen 
frugal-minded  people. 

She  dangled  from  one  hand  a  cerise  chiffon  sun- 
shade, while  little  house-slippers  peeped  from  the 
dainty  feet.  When  Gillette's  inspection  travelled 
as  far  down  as  her  mother's  feet,  a  vague  con- 
fusion troubled  her.  She  recalled  with  a  familiar 
pang  that  those  pretty  little  feet  had  once  danced 
skirtless  in  a  small  music-hall  in  Liverpool.  But 
at  the  same  time  she  compared  the  flat  uncouth- 
ness  of  her  own — inherited,  she  understood,  from 
her  father — with  the  expressiveness  of  these  others, 
stepping  now  always  as  if  too  fragile  to  support 
the  round,  trim,  small-waisted  figure  above.  Gil- 
lette did  not  in  words  regret  the  almost  flat-soled 
nature  of  her  own,  for  passionately  and  sincerely 
she  realized  the  desire  for  physical  beauty  to  be 
often  only  a  snare  to  diminish  one's  desires  for 
the  more  inward  and  spiritual  loveliness.  But 
she  could  not  always  still  the  natural  clamor  ot 
youth,  with  its  pagan  needs.  Feet  like  her  moth- 
er's were  easy  to  love.  Gillette  sighed  silently  as 
she  followed  her  into  the  landau  to  drive  to  Vic- 
toria Station. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  41 

It  was  Mrs.  Sinclair  who  sustained  the  greater 
share  of  conversation  during  the  hour's  train  jour- 
ney from  London.  Gillette  leaned  against  the 
back  of  her  seat,  and  stared  at  the  sun-bathed 
country  outside,  while  her  mother  babbled  of 
their  host's  matrimonial  intentions,  repeating  in- 
cessantly the  good  fortune  it  was  for  Gillette  to 
be  loved  by  a  man  so  entirely  above  their  usual 
intimates.  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  frank,  and  stated 
plainly  that  the  girl,  for  all  her  thousands,  was 
heavily  handicapped  in  the  choice  of  a  life  com- 
panion. 

"Me  and  you  both  being  plain  is  a  piece  of  bad 
luck,"  she  remarked  candidly.  "Men  like  me  right 
enough — you  can  take  that  from  me — but  the  one 
thing  they  don't  cotton  to  me  as  is  as  a  mother- 
in-law.  You  don't  want  to  be  amused  by  your 
mother-in-law,  and  you  don't  want  to  make  love 
to  her.  You  just  want  her  to  look  tip-top,  and 
that's  exactly  what  I  don't  do — I  look  fetching." 

She  laughed  loudly,  but  not  unmusically.  Gil- 
lette's eyes  watered.  It  was  not  the  aspersion 
cast  upon  her  own  looks  that  troubled  her,  but 
her  mother's  reflection  upon  herself  as  a  mother- 
in-law.  She  was  so  dearly  loved,  this  inconse- 
quent little  woman,  with  her  immediate  outflow 
of  every  thought  formulating  below  the  brazen 
head  of  curls,  that  it  was  like  a  shower  of  goads 
when  she  depreciated  herself  in  any  fashion.  Be- 
sides, talk  such  as  this  stirred  the  seldom  wholly 
slumbering  uneasiness  as  to  the  opinion  God 
might  hold  of  Gillette's  mother. 

Up  to  this  period  one  of  the  deepest  troubles 


42  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

of  the  girl's  life  had  been  the  paganism  of  her 
mother's  desires  and  life.  It  not  only  rendered 
any  real  communication  of  nature  impossible  be- 
tween them,  but  terrified  the  girl  -with  doubts  of 
the  after-verdict  to  be  passed  on  a  soul  so  gid- 
dily engrossed  by  the  pleasures  of  this  earth  only; 
for  the  atmosphere  of  heaven  was  love.  Only 
because  she  knew  herself  so  deeply  to  love  her 
God,  so  truly  to  yearn  after  the  full  sweet  light 
in  which  righteousness  would  be  as  clear  as 
beams  in  sunlight,  did  Gillette  herself  hope  for 
salvation.  There  had  been  times,  indeed,  when 
terror  for  the  eternal  welfare  of  her  joy-loving 
mother  had  bruised  the  girl's  thoughts,  and  again 
and  again  she  passed  nights  in  a  deliberate  vigil 
of  prayer  for  the  soul  that  had  no  spiritual  de- 
sire or  cares  for  itself. 

Mrs.  Sinclair,  meanwhile,  was  beginning  to  re- 
gret an  unstrategic  display  of  eagerness  for  this 
marriage.  Asked  point-blank  whether  she  in- 
tended accepting  George  Spenser,  Gillette  had  re- 
plied uncomfortably  that  the  question  distressed 
her,  and  that  her  mother  might  be  quite  mis- 
taken as  to  the  other's  intentions.  Mrs.  Sinclair's 
mental  response  had  been  to  the  effect  that  she 
was  no  fool  where  men  were  concerned,  and 
that  if  ever  a  man  needed  to  marry  money  it 
was  George  Spenser.  Gillette's  money,  moreover, 
was  all  her  own,  Mr.  Whittacker's  fortune  passing 
entirely  to  the  child  in  case  of  the  wife's  remar- 
riage, a  circumstance,  however,  very  little  affect- 
ing the  latter,  whose  second  husband  had  pos- 
sessed a  fortune  almost  as  large  as  that  of  her  first. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  43 

As  they  journeyed,  Mrs.  Sinclair's  heart  posi- 
tively thumped  in  her  breast  with  longing  for  the 
lustre  of  this  marriage  -with  a  man  backed  un- 
mistakably by  genteelly  nurtured  ancestors.  But 
looking  every  now  and  then  across  at  her  daugh- 
ter, she  became  oppressed  by  a  feeling  of  obstruc- 
tion. There  was  a  wistfulness  about  the  girl's 
expression  that  bothered  her  mother.  It  forced 
upon  her  the  apprehension  that  there  were  na- 
tures which  could  not  be  satisfied  with  the  tan- 
gible merely.  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  aware  that  she 
had  limitations  of  nature  which  rendered  the 
temperament  of  her  own  daughter  incomprehens- 
ible to  her.  It  was  a  circumstance  that  fre- 
quently depressed  her — to-day  more  than  ordi- 
narily— for,  after  a  life  replete  with  experiences, 
Mrs.  Sinclair  felt  that,  taking  life  such  as  it  was, 
Gillette  ought  to  regard  this  marriage  as  a  god- 
send. The  girl  would  have  nothing  to  say  to 
the  men  of  her  mother's  set,  chiefly  financiers, 
Jews,  and  wholesale  business  people.  They  were 
good  enough  for  Mrs.  Sinclair.  Until  her  mar- 
riage she  had  mixed  with  worse  than  these,  but 
Gillette  was  tongue-tied  before  them,  and  when 
any  of  them  proposed,  seized  by  lust  of  the  money 
they  all  saw  floating  perpetually  round  her  per- 
son, refused  them  with  horror-stricken  swiftness. 
Yet  now  a  man  of  refinement  and  position  stepped 
into  the  noisy  atmosphere,  there  was  no  access 
of  triumphal  content.  Still  more  seemed  wanted, 
apparently,  for  this  insatiable  disposition,  so 
humble  in  everything  else.  Mrs.  Sinclair  grew  de- 
pressed. The  child  had  no  philosophy;  she  was 


4A  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

all  heart  and  sentiment,  stretching  out  hands 
none  would  fill  for  this  bubble — love — this  chimera 
that,  without  elasticity,  one  had  but  to  grip  to 
burst.  True,  it  was  hard  to  be  denied  it  for  a 
surface  misfortune,  for  the  chance  that  flung  one 
into  the  tragic  circumstance  of  womanhood,  un- 
comforted  by  a  youth  of  attractiveness. 

Well,  suppose  the  worst  happened,  and  the  girl 
•were  an  old  maid?  Mrs.  Sinclair  shuddered ;  she 
could  not  conceive  a  greater  tragedy.  Life  with- 
out a  man  was  intolerable.  At  the  thought  she 
returned  to  the  subject  of  her  own  love  affairs, 
and  to  the  question  as  to  which  of  the  present 
aspirants  should  become  the  partner  of  her  final 
years. 

Gillette,  meanwhile,  searched  her  heart  pain- 
fully to  find  the  -way  of  holiness.  For  the  first 
time  she  felt  herself  loved,  and,  oh,  the  sweetness 
of  it,  the  intoxication !  It -was  always  the  charm 
of  her  quiet  and  gentle  personality  Spenser  harped 
upon,  and  it  had  a  power  to  carry  conviction  no 
other  admirer's  rhapsodies  had  done.  Theirs  cari- 
catured her  with  ill-selected  lies ;  this  might,  after 
all,  be  true.  Gillette  had  seen  frequently  enough 
the  inexplainable  appeal  one  nature  can  have  for 
another.  Humility  could  remain  intact,  while 
yet  one  trod  on  rose-leaves,  with  their  perfume 
rising  like  incense  to  one's  nostrils. 

She  was  •wearied  by  the  time  the  train  drew  up 
to  the  station,  and  for  all  her  week's  heart-prob- 
ings,  for  all  her  nights  of  prayer,  was  obliged  to 
leave  the  words  of  answer  to  the  whisper  she 
must  strive  to  hear  from  God  at  the  last  moment. 


CHAPTER  V 

George  Spenser  met  them  at  the  station,  and 
they  drove  in  an  open  fly  to  the  house.  During 
the  drive  Gillette  felt  herself  constantly  deferred 
to.  She  -was  conscious  also  that  he  said  "Miss 
Whittacker"  with  a  different  intonation  to  that 
which  he  used  in  addressing  her  mother,  and 
though  she  could  not  completely  lose  the  impres- 
sion of  a  face  undeviatingly  cold,  she  found  it 
easy  to  attribute  his  stern  appearance  to  the  re- 
peated disasters  of  his  past  life — his  ill-health,  his 
broken  army  career,  his  unexpected  poverty.  And 
every  time  that  he  turned  deferentially  for  her 
opinion,  an  unknown  tremor  coursed  through  her 
body. 

When  they  descended  at  the  steps  of  the  house, 
Mrs.  Sinclair  was  assisted  first.  As  he  then  held 
out  a  hand  to  the  girl,  Spenser  bent  forward  and 
said  under  his  breath: 

"Welcome,  little  leader." 

Gillette's  hand  trembled  as  it  dropped  into  his. 
When  he  had  last  called,  more  than  a  week  ago, 
they  had  tentatively  approached  the  subject  of 
religion.  It  had  proved  an  abortive  attempt,  the 
girl  stammering  with  inability  to  utter  thoughts 
so  sacred  and  inward.  But  as  they  passed  from 
it,  Spenser  had  said  that  it  was  by  the  gracious 
influence  of  good  women  that  men  came  usually 
to  see  the  force  and  beauty  of  religion,  adding, 


46  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

by  way  of  advantageously  closing  the  discus- 
sion: 

"You  little  leader,  how  sweet  you  could  make 
it  to  try  and  follow  in  your  path!" 

Evidently  the  remark  had  been  no  trivial  utter- 
ance, forgotten  in  the  saying.  In  his  thoughts  it 
continued,  since  now  again  he  called  her  "little 
leader." 

Gillette  entered  the  house  with  a  prayer  upon 
her  lips  that  she  might  indeed  be  the  humble 
guide  of  this  man  into  the  love  of  Christ  and  his 
fellow-beings,  and  with  below  her  prayers  a  swirl- 
ing mass  of  strange  and  confused  emotions. 

During  the  inspection  of  the  house,  however, 
shyness  wrecked  all  attempt  at  good  manners  in 
her.  Both  the  man  and  her  mother  appeared  to 
make  frankly  clear  that  she  was  asked  to  look 
at  everything  with  the  eyes  of  an  approaching 
bride.  When  they  came  into  the  rose-chintz  bed- 
room, embowered  still  in  the  flowers  of  yesterday, 
her  confusion  was  painfully  visible.  She  was 
shown,  while  her  cheeks  burned,  the  charming 
view  out  of  the  large  windows,  the  Annunciation 
by  an  unknown  artist  on  the  wall,  the  small 
powder-room  that  opened  out  of  the  larger  apart- 
ment, so  admirable  for  use  either  as  a  gigantic 
wardrobe  or  a  little  private  bathroom.  Then, 
as  she  separated  herself  from  her  mother,  and 
from  excess  of  nervous  pain  went  over  to  the 
flowers  on  the  dressing-table,  Spenser  came  up 
to  her.  Too  low  to  be  overheard  by  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair, still  in  the  small  powder-chamber,  he  said  to 
Gillette,  with  an  intonation  full  of  meaning : 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  47 

"It  struck  me  the  other  day  that  with  a  prie- 
dien  and  one's  Annunciation  it  would  make  a 
beautiful  praying-room.  More  withdrawn  and 
godly  than  one's  sleeping  and  dressing  room. 
Don't  you  think  so,  too,  dear  friend?" 

Gillette's  color  deepened  pitiably,  while  she 
stood  silent,  lacking  the  rapidity  of  thought  to 
make  an  easy  answer.  He  turned,  therefore,  tact- 
fully once  more  to  her  mother,  leaving  the  girl 
for  a  few  minutes  to  recover  self-possession.  She 
regained  it  somewhat  when  they  left  the  house 
for  the  garden.  In  the  open  air  she  breathed 
more  freely,  less  oppressed  by  a  sense  of  being 
driven  by  almost  indelicate  pressure  to  a  prema- 
ture decision.  Yet  confidence  had  been  stimulated 
once  during  their  tour  through  the  building. 
Spenser  did  not  omit  to  show  his  own  small  bed- 
room. They  had  been  allowed  to  look  through 
the  opened  door.  Like  her  own,  it  was  evidently 
from  choice,  for  there  were  bedrooms  in  plenty 
to  choose  from,  small  and  barely  furnished.  It 
contained  only  a  camp-bed,  and  a  barrack  chest 
of  drawers  and  furniture.  There  was  no  litter 
of  women's  photographs — nothing  but  a  shelf  of 
books  and  a  copy  of  a  Boticelli  Madonna  and 
Child.  Unaware  that  the  picture  had  been  placed 
in  its  present  position  that  morning,  Gillette  lin- 
gered tenderly  upon  its  signification  in  his  room. 
Undoubtedly  he  was  at  least  a  man  drawn  to 
delicate  and  beautiful  things. 

In  the  garden  lunch  was  waiting  for  them  under 
the  trees  where  it  had  been  laid  the  day  before. 
The  man  Temple  was  still  busy  carrying  out 


48  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

plates  and  dishes  when  they  walked  up  to  it, 
and  Gillette  seated  herself  temporarily  in  the  ham- 
mock, swinging  awkwardly  backward  and  for- 
ward. 

"You  will  be  more  comfortable  here,  Miss  Whit- 
tacker.  An  arm-chair  is  the  thing  for  a  day  like 
this"  ;  and  George  Spenser  -walked  up  to  the  ham- 
mock and  held  out  his  hand  to  assist  her. 

"I  am  quite  comfortable,"  replied  Gillette,  un- 
comfortably, but  she  took  the  chair  he  indicated. 

George  Spenser  then  sat  down  in  the  hammock 
himself,  a  curious  expression  of  triumph,  unseen 
by  the  girl,  passing  over  his  face.  He  was,  in- 
deed, seized  with  an  immense  desire  to  laugh  un- 
controllably. For,  as  Gillette,  seated  herself  op- 
posite to  him  in  the  hammock,  he  had  recalled 
with  the  clearness  almost  of  vision,  Ellice  in  a 
leghorn  and  rose-trimmed  hat,  swinging  in  the 
same  place,  and  laughing  at  him  with  her  white 
teeth  showing.  His  nerves  had  not  the  strength 
to  endure  the  contrast.  This  ugly  creature  must 
be  removed  before  his  exasperation  found  vent 
in  some  preposterous  outburst.  Once  in  the  ham- 
mock, he  smiled  contemptuously  at  his  own  in- 
anity. But  the  relief,  nevertheless,  of  having  the 
other  no  longer  there,  was  almost  physical. 

Mrs.  Sinclair,  meanwhile,  had  commenced  to 
prepare  for  lunch,  hovering  about  the  table  like 
a  bee  about  a  bush  of  honeysuckle. 

"Four  places!"  she  exclaimed  suddenly,  in  her 
loud  but  not  unpleasing  voice.  "Are  you  expect- 
ing any  one  else,  Mr.  Spenser?" 

"Only  a  man  to  make  the  fourth,  Mrs.  Sinclair, 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  49 

and  in  the  fear  that  you  two  ladies  might  be 
bored  with  my  poor  society.  Mr.  Crawford,  who 
lives  in  the  little  white  house  you  admired  so 
much  on  the  way  here,  is  going  to  join  us,  with 
your  permission." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with 
a  perplexed  expression.  Then  suddenly  her  face 
cleared  again,  and  she  beamed  comprehendingly. 

"Charming — charming,  I'm  sure.  Four  is  so 
convenient — I  mean,  such  good  company.  Is  he 
coming  soon?  for  I  am  actually  hungry;  yes,  I 
am,  though  I  know  one  oughtn't  to  be  this 
weather.  But  there,  your  lunch  do  look  so  invit- 
ing! I  shall  take  off  my  gloves  to  be  ready." 

She  did  so,  after  giving  a  meaning  look  to  her 
host.  Of  course  he  wanted  a  fourth.  How  clever 
of  him  to  have  thought  of  it !  He  could  not  pro- 
pose to  Gillette  plump  out  in  the  presence  of  her 
mother,  and  to  entice  the  girl  away  and  leave 
the  elder  woman  would  have  been  scarcely  gen- 
teel. They  had  to  wait,  however,  a  little  while 
before  the  fourth  guest  appeared,  and  during  the 
interval  George  Spenser  grew  to  regret  as  a  piece 
of  thoughtlessness  his  arrangement  of  lunching 
in  the  same  place  as  the  day  before. 

Ellice  haunted  it,  with  a  mocking  smile  on  her 
fresh  pink  lips,  and  a  mocking  bow  at  the  side 
of  her  cheek.  And  her  constant  presence  in  his 
mind  sharpened  the  hopeless  plebeianism  of  the  girl 
who  now  sat  in  her  place.  How  on  earth  he  could 
propose  with  sufficient  ardor  to  humbug  her 
began  seriously  to  disconcert  him.  Really,  he  had 
forgotten  how  impossible-looking  she  was,  a  dairy 
4 


50  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

maid  without  a  dairy  maid's  ease  and  vitality. 
The  broad  set  figure  was  there,  the  round  red 
face,  but  not  the  extenuating  cotton  gown,  the 
upturned  sleeves,  the  hearty  movements  of  plump, 
firm  arms.  Good  Lord !  he  told  himself  fretfully, 
a  dairy  maid  would  have  been  preferable.  She 
would,  at  least,  have  warmed  his  heart  by  a 
healthy,  brainless  zest  of  life.  This  great  fat  girl 
only  aggravated  with  her  timid,  anaemic  man- 
ners, her  incongruous  gravity  of  mind.  Sitting 
exactly  opposite  to  her,  he  had  ample  oppor- 
tunity for  observation,  and  he  made  none  that 
did  not  stir  unjustified  resentment.  Her  sailor 
hat,  the  sore  place  near  her  mouth,  her  unbecom- 
ing gown,  the  way  she  placed  her  feet  a  little 
apart  upon  the  lawn — all  equally  offended  him.  He 
felt,  as  he  looked,  that  for  the  first  time  in  life 
he  could  sympathize  with  the  futile  tears  of 
women.  And  yesterday's  contention  had  some- 
how upset  him.  He  had  passed  a  bad  night, 
been  prey  to  a  touch  of  fever,  and  to-day  de- 
sired nothing  so  much  as  to  sit  limply  and  be 
addressed  by  nobody.  To  open  his  lips  implied 
effort.  And  to-day  of  all  days  he  had  to  propose 
to  this  appalling  woman,  and  be  prepared  besides 
to  tread  under-foot  an  unknown  quantity  of  mad- 
dening religious  objections. 

Not  to  be  beaten  by  ignorance,  he  had  read 
through  the  Marriage  Service  before  her  arrival, 
and  felt  fairly  grounded  in  the  Biblical  notions 
on  the  subject;  but  the  intolerable  fatigue  of  it 
made  him  weary  in  advance.  As  he  sat  there 
waiting  for  his  friend  Crawford,  he  experienced 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  51 

an  acute  sense  of  doing  the  whole  thing  with  an 
imbecile  lack  of  motive.  He  could  not  lay  hold 
of  a  single  vestige  of  his  old  craving  for  money, 
and  the  girl  opposite  was  quite  the  most  repul- 
sive he  could  have  selected.  It  seemed  as  if,  out 
of  the  cussedness  of  fate,  all  his  primary  hanker- 
ing after  luxurious  living  had  suddenly  expired 
in  him,  and  he  was  proposing  somnolently,  for 
no  reason  at  all,  except  that  he  had  once  arranged 
to  do  so. 

Mr.  Crawford's  arrival  was  a  relief  to  them  all. 
Mrs.  Sinclair  instantly  took  a  fancy  to  him,  and 
the  ceaseless  chatter  he  maintained  at  her  provo- 
cation relieved  Gillette  from  her  uncomfortable 
sense  of  being  the  centre  of  attention,  and  Spen- 
ser from  having  perpetually  to  drag  conversation 
again  from  the  impassS  her  social  stupidity  drove 
it  into. 

Sidney  Crawford  meanwhile  slowly  recovered 
from  the  shock  caused  by  the  discovery  of  the 
kind  of  ladies  he  had  been  asked  to  help  enter- 
tain. George  Spenser  was  the  last  man  he  would 
have  expected  to  be  amused  by  golden-haired 
women,  with  dubious  intonations,  and  a  breath- 
catching  license  of  conversation.  As  for  Gillette, 
she  amazed  him  more  than  the  other.  What  she 
was  doing  there  passed  his  comprehension;  for 
if  the  mother  was  common,  she  was  at  least 
amusing,  and  that  certainly  the  daughter  could 
not  well  by  any  stretch  of  imagination  be  called. 
She  ate  practically  nothing — from  self-conscious- 
ness Crawford  concluded — and  when  spoken  to, 
her  eyes  fluttered  helplessly  toward  any  place 


52  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

save  toward  the  person  who  addressed  her. 
Though  the  rest  were  drinking  freely  of  champagne, 
she  drank  water  only,  and  toward  the  end  of 
luncheon  Crawford  became  so  genuinely  sorry 
for  her  that  he  ceased  to  enjoy  his  own  meal. 
Poor  little  girl!  he  thought,  how  miserable  she 
looked!  And  she  -was  evidently  a  good  sort. 
She  had  benign  gray  eyes,  and  her  mouth  was 
really  rather  sweet.  Only  the  tout-ensemble  was 
so  awful — the  figure,  the  manners,  the  dress. 
Once  again,  glancing  sympathetically  in  her  di- 
rection, Crawford  asked  himself  inwardly  what 
the  devil  these  two  extraordinary  women  were 
doing  here. 

Mrs.  Sinclair,  however,  amused  him  inordi- 
nately. His  presence  was  the  stimulation  she 
needed.  To  be  -with  a  man,  and  not  exert  herself 
to  fascinate,  remained  beyond  Mrs.  Sinclair's  ca- 
pacity. And  no  woman  knew  better  wherein 
her  own  strength  lay.  All  her  citadels  had  been 
taken  by  storm,  by  audacity,  by  an  almost  out- 
rageous courage.  Mr.  Crawford  consequently 
laughed  from  the  beginning  of  the  meal  to  the 
end,  and  terminated  half  of  opinion  that  his 
neighbor  had  succumbed  to  the  undeniable  orig- 
inalities of  this  spontaneous  vulgarian.  The  thing 
was  possible.  Spenser  suffered  constantly  from 
the  blues,  and  this  semi-clever  farceuse  would 
cure  the  blues  forever.  Crawford  himself,  how- 
ever, proved  unusually  stimulating  to  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair. His  appearance  alone  was  singularly  in 
favor  of  risible  expectations.  Six  foot  three  and 
immensely  broad,  he  was  also  immensely  and 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  53 

loosely  fat.  His  face  was  round  like  a  schoolboy's, 
and,  similarly  to  Mrs.  Sinclair's  own,  every  line 
on  it  indicated  habits  of  carelessness  and  good- 
humor. 

Healthily  red  from  a  life  spent  much  in  the  open 
air,  his  whole  physiognomy  breathed  out  a  tem- 
perament unruffled  by  the  ordinary  breezes  of  life, 
and  naturally  and  fundamentally  optimistic.  Ow- 
ing to  the  shortness  of  his  full  neck,  he  wore  a 
turned-down  Oxford  collar,  but  except  for  that 
dressed  with  rigid  adherence  to  the  fashion.  His 
fair  hair  was  straight  and  sleek,  his  expression  in 
repose,  pleasant  and  childlike.  The  unwieldiness 
of  his  person,  and  the  ceaseless  predicaments  it 
placed  him  in  owing  to  the  present  taste  for  care- 
lessly made  furniture,  was  his  most  constant 
joke.  During  their  lunch  he  protested  more  than 
once  against  his  insecurity  upon  a  flimsy  and 
ominously  creaking  wicker  chair.  The  heat  also 
genuinely  troubled  him,  and  he  fanned  himself  in- 
cessantly with  a  palm-leaf  fan  he  had  brought 
from  his  own  dwelling.  The  perspiration,  how- 
ever, never  ceased  to  lie  upon  his  forehead,  and 
at  last,  when  Mrs.  Sinclair's  appetite  was  satis- 
factorily appeased,  and  they  pushed  their  chairs 
back  from  the  white  painted  table,  he  got  up 
heavily,  and  rivalled  the  sans-gene  of  Gillette's 
mother  herself. 

"Ladies,  be  merciful  upon  me,  a  sinner,  and  do 
not  put  down  my  actions  to  vanity.  But  I  was 
not  arranged  for  heat  like  this,  and  it  handles 
me  a  little  roughly." 

As  he  spoke  he  did   what   Mrs.    Sinclair   was 


54  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

longing  to  have  the  courage  to  do.  He  took  a 
small  powder-box  from  his  pocket,  and  carefully 
powdered  his  shining,  rubicund  face.  Having 
done  so,  he  wiped  it  with  a  handkerchief,  and 
subsided  into  his  chair  again  with  a  sigh  of  com- 
fort. 

Spenser  meanwhile  was  debating  what  spot  in 
the  house  or  grounds  he  should  select  for  the 
momentous  question.  The  rose-garden,  one  dewy 
outburst  of  pink  and  crimson,  and  perfumed  like 
Ellice's  breath,  was  the  proper  place  undoubtedly. 
But  Ellice  had  walked  there  the  day  before,  and 
he  put  it  down  as  a  fresh  sign  of  the  mental  sick- 
liness  engendered  by  his  physical  ill-health,  that 
he  simply  could  not  bring  himself  to  associate  this 
caricature  of  womanhood  -with  the  spot  enriched 
by  the  other's  radiant  beauty.  At  the  side  of  the 
stream  running  at  the  back  of  the  house  they 
would  be  safe  from  observation;  but  as  soon  as 
the  place  rose  in  his  mind  there  rose  also  the 
same  objection  to  it.  Ellice  had  knelt  and  dab- 
bled her  warm  hands  in  its  silvery  waters,  while 
the  reflection  of  her  head  had  fallen  into  its  shal- 
low depths  in  a  charming  blur  of  rose  color. 
Besides,  it  was  like  Ellice  herself— fresh,  revivify- 
ing, musical.  Finally  he  selected  the  library.  It 
had  a  musty  odor,  and  breathed  out  a  plethoric 
dulness  admirably  in  harmony  with  its  future 
mistress.  He  pulled  himself  together  then  for  the 
ordeal,  with  a  distaste  quite  beyond  anything  he 
had  expected. 

"Miss  Whittacker,  are  you  too  hot  for  a  stroll? 
I  have  not  shown  my  books  to  you  yet." 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  56 

Mrs.  Sinclair  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  com- 
menced instantly  to  talk  overload  to  Sidney 
Crawford.  For  the  last  ten  minutes  she  had  been 
waiting  impatiently  for  some  such  promising  sug- 
gestion. It  was  quite  time  it  came,  she  felt,  since 
the  afternoon  could  hardly  be  expected  to  prove 
elastic  in  order  to  gratify  George  Spenser's  con- 
venience. 

Gillette,  however,  trembled  at  the  request.  In- 
tuition murmured  what  it  probably  preluded, 
and  an  unreasoned  terror  coursed  through  her 
limbs.  For  a  minute  she  felt  a  physical  inca- 
pacity to  rise  from  her  seat,  and  she  answered 
him  by  a  look  of  involuntary  appeal. 

Spenser  realized  reluctance,  and  guessed  it  to 
come  from  indecision  as  to  what  reply  to  make 
to  his  petition.  He  went  round  the  table  to  her 
seat  with  a  passing  feeling  of  admiration  for  her, 
she  was  so  utterly  sincere  and  conscientious,  so 
completely  undazzled  by  the  age  of  the  place  he 
offered.  More  than  once,  indeed,  lately  he  had 
confronted  thoughts  of  a  strange  and  simple 
beauty,  lying  behind  the  unpleasing  physiognomy. 
Unfortunately,  they  were  inadequate  to  wring 
more  than  a  grudging  recognition,  and  more  than 
once  had  merely  caused  him  to  reflect,  how  much 
more  gracefulness  Ellice  would  have  wrenched 
out  of  a  similar  conception.  For  once,  however, 
he  acknowledged,  almost  with  a  feeling  of  kind- 
liness, that  she  had  a  temperament  maligned  by 
superficial  acquaintance. 

"Come,  dear  friend,  we  cannot  talk  here,  and  I 
have  much  to  say  to  you,". he  whispered,  -with 


56  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

as  much  eagerness  as  he  could,  standing  in  front 
of  her  chair  in  order  to  have  his  back  to  Mrs. 
Sinclair. 

Gillette  got  up,  with  heart-beats  that  made  her 
bodice  creak.  As  for  speech,  she  was  incapable  of 
it,  and  walked  beside  him  to  the  house  meek  as 
some  lamb  and  mute  as  a  terrified  child.  But 
she  felt  the  sun's  fierce  glow  scorch  her  with  un- 
answerable love  phrases,  and  she  saw  the  flow- 
ers they  passed  laying  bare  for  her  a  beauty  she 
had  never  perceived  in  them  before.  A  trembling 
desire  seized  her,  as  they  passed  a  bush  of  roses 
near  the  house,  to  take  the  glowing  blossoms 
and  press  them  senselessly  against  her  breast, 
that  they  might  crush  out  the  trouble  leaping 
and  quivering  within  it.  She  tried  to  pray,  but 
her  soul  was  chaos ;  all  that  rose  to  her  lips  were 
the  words,  "Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven." 

Still  in  meek  silence  she  followed  the  other  into 
the  house.  When  they  had  -withdrawn  out  of  ear- 
shot of  Mrs.  Sinclair  and  Sidney  Crawford,  Spen- 
ser had  leant  slightly  toward  her. 

"I  want  you  to  myself  a  little,  you  restful,  quiet 
girl.  Let  us  go  into  the  cool  of  the  house,  Gil- 
lette." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  called  her  by 
her  Christian  name.  So  strange  a  sense  of  giddi- 
ness affected  her  at  the  sound  that  she  wondered 
for  a  moment  if  she  were  ill.  It  passed,  but  at  a 
word  she  would  have  fallen  without  resistance 
into  his  arms.  Spenser,  however,  having  pre- 
pared his  way,  did  not  trouble  to  make  further 
efforts,  and  the  silence  of  both  was  equal.  But 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  57 

they  had  no  sooner  entered  the  sombre  library 
than  he  closed  the  door  and  went  quickly  to  her 
side.  Gillette  had  retreated  to  the  further  win- 
dow, and  stared  out  of  it,  while  she  made  one 
final  effort  to  reconquer  clearness  of  intelligence. 
If  her  limbs  stood  firm,  her  brain  certainly  reeled 
uselessly  in  her  head.  She  knew  nothing,  under- 
stood nothing,  except  a  confusion  whose  sweet- 
ness alarmed  and  disquieted  her. 

"Miss  Whittacker — Gillette — are  you  going  to 
have  pity  upon  me?  I  am  absolutely  unworthy 
to  breathe  the  air  about  you,  but  your  goodness 
is  an  overpowering  influence,  and  binds  one  like 
the  meshes  of  a  net.  I  love  you!  Your  nature 
awes  me  with  its  beauty.  I  want  to  be  always 
in  contact  with  you.  Gillette,  will  you  lead  me 
for  the  future,  or  must  I  end  my  days  in  miser- 
able heathenism?  for  no  other  woman  could  re- 
place you.  Don't  you  see,  you  are  unique.  Once 
to  love  you,  Gillette,  is  to  have  your  impress 
graven  in  one's  disposition  forever." 

He  could  have  groaned  with  disgust  as  he 
spoke.  Involuntarily  the  ignobleness  of  his  own 
attitude  chafed  him,  for  below  his  personal  dis- 
taste to  Gillette  existed  a  growing  conviction 
that  she  deserved  fine  treatment.  Her  very  low- 
liness and  sincerity  should  have  disarmed  duplic- 
ity. And  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  his  careful 
rejection  of  any  reference  to  outward  beauty  was 
the  strongest  method  of  obtaining  credulity  he 
could  employ. 

She  did  not  answer  immediately.  He  saw 
phrases  stammer  to  her  lips  and  die  unuttered, 


58  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

either  from  fear  or  indecision.  But  he  felt  the 
passionate  charm  he  exercised,  and  was  not  un- 
easy as  to  the  ultimate  result  of  the  contest. 
What  he  dreaded  was  the  accumulated  nausea  of 
his  own  tissue  of  lying  phrases. 

At  last,  however,  the  silence  commenced  to  bore 
him. 

"Gillette,"  he  said  again,  as  a  wedge  to  force 
speech,  but  at  the  same  moment  unable  to  sup- 
press a  sense  of  the  grotesqueness  of  proposing 
to  a  creature  with  a  wisp  of  straight  hair  drawn 
back  from  an  unsoftened  forehead.  Frankly,  there 
was  something  almost  immodest  in  unveiled  tem- 
ples and  ears  exposed  in  their  entirety. 

"Mr.  Spenser,  I  am  sorry  if  you  love  me,  be- 
cause I  cannot  decide  whether  it  is  right  for  me 
to  marry." 

"Why,  dear  little  girl,  why?  You  torture  me. 
Gillette,  love  suffers  so  in  its  suspense.  Let  me 
know  your  fears,  that  I  may  conquer  them.  As 
for  love,  I  have  enough  for  two." 

Still  the  girl  fought  for  clearness  and  calm,  still 
struggled  to  find  a  prayer  for  guidance.  She  could 
remember  of  all  the  Bible  passages  on  marriage 
only  two,  and  these  two  were  so  enticing  she 
trembled  to  find  them  the  only  ones  arisen  in  her 
mind:  "For  the  unbelieving  husband  is  sancti- 
fied by  his  wife,"  and  "What  knowest  thou,  wife, 
whether  thou  shalt  save  thy  husband?" 

"I  am  so  ugly  and  stupid,"  she  stammered  at 
last,  "and  I  should  perhaps  irritate  you  with  my 
beliefs.  I  cannot  talk.  Even  what  I  think  I  find 
difficulty  in  putting  into  words.  And  you  see, 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  59 

even  for  you,  I  could  not  do  certain  things  that 
to  me  seem  wrong.  I  cannot  go  to  thaetres,  or 
dances,  or  big  parties  -where  a  great  deal  is  spent. 
I  cannot  wear  low  dresses  or  entertain  extrava- 
gantly. Perhaps  this  would  vex  you.  It  seems 
foolish  to  any  one  who  does  not  feel  as  I  do." 

Her  voice  fell  at  the  end  plaintively  like  a  leaf 
fallen  prematurely;  but  her  brain  had  to  some 
extent  emerged  from  its  heaviness.  She  felt  keenly 
again  that  their  mental  worlds  could  never  co- 
alesce. 

Spenser  listened  with  admirable  gravity ;  he  was 
not  altogether  unmoved,  even.  Transiently,  her 
immense  denials  fascinated  him.  The  constant 
strength  of  purpose  her  convictions  necessitated 
implied  a  force  sympathetic  to  him. 

"Dearest,  I  have  no  wish  to  thwart  you  in  the 
smallest  thing.  I  love  you  to  a  great  extent  be- 
cause of  your  religion.  You  shall  go  to  no  party 
you  do  not  want  to,  give  none  against  your  will. 
As  for  this  preposterous  talk  of  stupidity,  why, 
you  are  full  of  thought  and  intelligence.  I  detest 
the  inane  conversation  made  for  conversation's 
sake ;  I  am  no  great  talker  myself,  dearest.  As  to 
your  looks,  I  love  them.  Besides,  a  certain  Gil- 
lette— what  a  dear,  funny  name  it  is,  tool — has 
eyes  so  beautiful  they  sink  into  one's  soul." 

He  saw  her  sway  slightly,  and  her  gaze  become 
fixed,  as  if  mesmerized  by  his  own.  To  the  girl 
herself  it  seemed  that,  if  she  could  only  get  away 
from  him,  she  might  more  easily  resteep  her  mind 
in  thoughts  of  holiness.  Her  desires  rushed  all 
toward  a  swift  consent;  her  religion  knew  not 


60  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

clearly  what  to  say,  and  instinct  hung  back  du- 
bious and  lethargic.  All  this  heavy  sweetness 
weighing  upon  her  could  not  last.  After  it  was 
there  a  close  enough  sympathy  for  peace?  She 
knew  him  too  little ;  practically,  his  character  was 
but  surmised  by  her.  He  loved  reading,  he  was 
often  ill,  he  talked  of  current  topics  with  a  tinge 
of  seriousness,  harmonizing  with  her  own  earnest 
outlook  upon  all  things.  His  interest  also  in  her 
work  among  the  poor  was  unflagging.  All  his 
impulses,  Gillette  told  herself,  were  noble,  like  ten- 
tative steps  toward  the  light.  Oh,  if  God  would 
but  make  her  the  lowly  means  of  bringing  him 
to  see  the  only  peace  that  is  in  truth  "past 
all  understanding!"  Suddenly  she  saw  herself, 
through  a  refusal  of  George  Spenser,  deliberately 
turning  away  from  the  work  God  selected  her  to 
do.  For  was  it  not  little  less  than  a  miracle  to 
be  loved  at  last,  she,  so  ungainly  and  unlovable? 
And  had  he  not  said  that  to  see  another  striving 
after  the  ways  of  Christ  was  to  constrain  a  de- 
sire to  follow  in  the  same  footsteps? 

"If  you  were  sure  I  could  help  you — if " 

Spenser  waited  a  second,  apparently  for  the 
completion  of  the  halting  sentence,  in  reality  for 
strength  of  purpose.  Then  suddenly  he  drew  her 
with  some  force  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her  sev- 
eral times. 


CHAPTER  VI 

They  came  out  on  to  the  lawn  about  half  an 
hour  later,  feeling  almost  equally  uncomfortable. 
Gillette's  discomfort  rose  from  a  reluctance  to 
carry  her  timid  new  happiness  into  the  intrusive 
presence  of  her  mother,  Spenser's  merely  from 
distaste  at  having  sooner  or  later  to  make  pub- 
lic the  choice  of  wife  he  had  made.  He  pondered 
weakly,  as  they  left  the  library,  the  possibility  of 
going  abroad  from  the  announcement  of  the  en- 
gagement until  the  day  of  the  wedding.  Gillette 
could  be  told  that  he  was  ill. 

They  found  Mrs.  Sinclair  convulsed  with  laugh- 
ter as  they  approached.  She  had  seated  herself 
in  the  hammock,  one  little  foot  dangling  to  re- 
veal a  beautiful  ankle.  Crawford  was  sitting 
facing  her  on  the  table,  and  the  helpless  move- 
ments of  his  fat  shoulders  showed  him  to  be 
chuckling  likewise.  Gillette  no  longer  wore  her 
hat.  Spenser,  feeling  unable  to  support  its  pres- 
ence any  longer,  had  supplicated  for  its  removal, 
on  the  plea  of  desiring  to  see  the  soft  brown  hair 
that  covered  the  head  he  adored.  Gillette,  with 
instant  docility,  had  removed  her  headgear,  but 
as  she  came  toward  the  other  two,  and  saw  her 
mother's  piercing  look  of  inquiry,  she  flushed  with 
painful  self-consciousness,  and  felt  as  if  culpable 
of  some  grave  impropriety. 

Spenser  observed  equally  Mrs.  Sinclair's  instant 


62  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

attentive  cessation  of  chatter.  For  a  second  he 
contemplated  blurting  out  the  engagement  then 
and  there.  Upon  reflection,  however,  he  decided 
it  might  be  better  to  withdraw  the  anxious  lady, 
and  ask  her  consent  in  private.  It  was  agonizing 
to  contemplate  another  tete-a-tete  on  the  same 
appalling  subject;  but,  after  all,  Mrs.  Sinclair 
would  be  easier  to  deal  with  than  the  other. 

"Mrs.  Sinclair,  will  you  come  for  a  little  walk 
now?  Miss  Whittacker  wants  to  rest,  and  it  is 
really  quite  comparatively  cool." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  assented  with  a  haste  and  flurry 
that  puzzled  Crawford.  He  had  already  grown 
conscious  that  he  had  been  asked  to  assist  at 
some  more  or  less  domestic  drama.  The  lady 
had  laughed  at  him,  with  one  eye  always  turned 
toward  the  house.  She  had  made  ridiculous  con- 
versation \vith  a  large  share  of  her  mind  disen- 
gaged from  the  things  she  said.  Was  she  jealous 
of  her  poor  dull  daughter?  From  her  talk  Craw- 
ford had  discovered  that  she  was  rich.  She  had 
already  asked  him  to  join  a  party  going  from  her 
house  on  the  river  to  Molesey  Regatta  on  the 
following  Saturday,  and  had  referred,  in  passing, 
to  her  steam-launch  and  carriages.  For  one  brief 
second  of  time  Crawford  asked  himself  whether 
Spenser  had  designs  upon  this  probable  fortune, 
since  that  there  was  something  on  foot  between 
the  three  he  became  convinced,  when,  on  the  re- 
appearance of  Gillette  and  Spenser,  the  latter 
immediately  withdrew  again  with  his  amusing 
companion,  leaving  him  to  entertain  the  visibly 
disturbed  younger  woman. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  63 

It  took  a  good  deal  to  disturb  Crawford.  He 
prognosticated  now  that  conversation  would  be 
neither  fluent  nor  gratifying,  but  it  was  the  affair 
of  half  an  hour  only,  and  he  had  a  vague  desire 
to  find  out  what  filled  the  head  of  this  quite  un- 
known species  of  the  sex. 

She,  like  her  mother,  went  and  sat  down  in  the 
hammock,  and  then,  by  way  of  saying  something, 
remarked  that  the  heat  was  intense. 

"It  is,"  replied  Crawford  genially — "far  too  in- 
tense for  such  as  me;  for  the  worst  of  it  is,  I 
appear  to  melt  visibly,  and,  notwithstanding,  re- 
main an  invariable  nineteen  stone.  Let  me  lend 
you  my  fan,"  he  continued  pleasantly.  "I  go  to 
bed  with  one  now,  and  when  I  wake  up  in  the 
night  fan  myself  to  sleep  again.  Don't  you  find 
town  awful?  and  your  mother  tells  me  you  are 
out  every  evening.  How  can  you,  and  survive?" 

"My  mother  meant  that  she  went  out  every 
night,  not  I,"  replied  Gillette,  crimsoning  afresh. 

"Is  it  too  hot  for  you?  Have  you,  like  me, 
succumbed  to  circumstances,  and  tabooed  both 
parties  and  theatres  for  the  present?" 

Gillette  always  suffered  -when  forced  to  speak 
of  her  religious  convictions.  They  were  enwrapped 
in  feelings  so  deep,  much  had  to  be  torn  apart  to 
let  them  struggle  to  the  surface. 

"I  do  not  go  to  parties  or  theatres  at  any  time. 
To  me  it  seems  better  that  one  should  not,"  she 
said,  pausing,  as  usual,  between  every  few  words. 
It  was  a  habit  with  her,  due  partly  to  humility, 
and  partly  to  years  of  mental  isolation  from  the 
majority.  Simple  as  were  her  thoughts,  Gillette 


64  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

never  knew  when  they  would  not  be  rejected  as 
incomprehensible. 

As  for  Crawford,  he  received  the  above  state- 
ment with  a  sense  of  stupefaction.  So  she  had  the 
religious  mania,  poor  soul !  It  was  impossible  to 
have  anything  worse  or  more  depressing.  He 
looked  at  her  compassionately,  and  observed, 
now  that  she  wore  no  hat,  that  she  revealed  a 
beautiful,  serene  forehead.  Oh,  but  she  was  so 
red,  and  her  hands,  that  she  never  seemed  to 
know  what  to  do  with,  were  so  red,  too.  How- 
ever, her  remark  attracted  him;  he  became  curi- 
ous to  know  the  extent  of  her  irregularities. 

"So  you  really  think  it  is  wrong  to  go  to  a 
ball  or  a  theatre?  But  tell  me,  do  you  never 
want  to?"  he  questioned  curiously. 

"Sometimes,  when  I  hear  talk  of  a  play,  I  should 
like  to  go  to  the  theatre,"  answered  Gillette,  but 
for  the  nervous  action  of  her  hands,  as  simply  as 
any  child.  Nevertheless,  she  longed  for  the  mo- 
ment when  her  catechism  by  this  stranger  should 
be  at  an  end. 

"All  frivolous  things  are  not  distasteful  to  you, 
then?"  Crawford  pursued  with  a  mild  persist- 
ence. 

Gillette  felt  troubled  to  be  clear  as  to  what  the 
other  signified  by  frivolity.  To  lie  with  a  book 
on  the  river  or  in  a  garden,  to  do  many  trivial 
things,  indeed,  were  pleasant  to  her.  Half  forget- 
ting her  self-consciousness  a  second,  she  looked  up 
at  him,  and  Crawford  was  astonished  at  the  can- 
did beauty  of  her  eyes. 

"I  like  many  frivolous  things;   and  some  friv- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  65 

olous  things  I  know  to  be  wrong,"  she  replied  a 
little  vaguely. 

She  was  thinking,  as  she  added  the  last  half  of 
her  sentence,  how  violent  the  temptation  was,  at 
this  period,  to  spend  time  and  money  upon  at- 
tractive clothes,  to  wave  her  hair  and  dress  it 
elaborately,  to  powder  and  pale  the  crimson 
cheeks. 

"What  frivolous  things  do  you  like — naughty 
modern  novels?" 

Crawford  put  the  special  kind  of  inquiry  with 
a  touch  of  mischief.  He  had  an  idea  the  words 
"naughty  modern  novels"  would  disconcert  the 
simplicity  of  this  curious  religieuse. 

Gillette  shook  her  head,  however,  without  in- 
crease of  nervousness.  Something  patient  in  her 
manner  touched  him,  and  he  vowed  not  to  tease 
her  any  more.  After  all,  the  people  who  did  not 
pass  existence  trying  to  please  themselves  pos- 
sessed powers  to  which  his  sense  of  gigantic  self- 
ishness paid  an  impressed  homage.  Constant  ha- 
bituation,  moreover,  to  women  of  the  world  made 
this  shrinking,  plain  girl,  with  her  complete  ab- 
sence of  all  the  customary  social  qualities,  and 
her  quaint  intense  religiousness,  quite  refreshing. 
There  was  an  impression  of  goodness  impalpably 
given  out  by  her  presence.  Crawford  had  never 
known  a  woman  one  could  actually  define  as  a 
good  woman  before.  His  fundamental  desire  to 
live  easily  and  gaily  had  maintained  him  in  a 
set  where  nobility  of  action  was  not  thought  of, 
and  where  women  were  more  or  less,  for  the  most 
part,  fair  game  to  treat  shabbily.  They  knew 
5 


66  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

their  world  so  well,  and  tricked  men  with  equal, 
if  not  greater,  skill  and  unconcern.  And  suddenly 
he  reflected  lazily  how  refreshing  it  would  be  if 
he  could  come  across  some  girl  as  spiritually 
alert  as  this  one,  but  with  a  face  at  the  same 
time  fascinating  to  watch.  A  pure,  quiet  mind 
detached  from  intrigues  and  passion,  what  ex- 
traordinary charm  it  would  have !  He  was  dead 
sick  of  the  women  who  wanted  eternal  admira- 
tion, eternal  undesirable  adventures,  eternally  ex- 
pensive meals  and  suppers.  But,  then,  the  worst 
of  being  bad  one's  self  was  that  it  flung  one  into 
the  society  of  persons  similarly  constituted.  Still, 
he  might  be  said  to  have  repented,  having  cer- 
tainly abandoned  the  entire  system  of  his  old 
habits.  Repleted  with  the  monotony  of  their 
ways,  he  had  given  up  women's  society.  He  was, 
he  felt,  too  fat  any  longer  to  dance  attendance 
on  their  usually  uncongenial  whims.  Their  cham- 
pagne suppers  gave  him  liver  attacks,  and  their 
rich  selections  in  food  increased  his  alarming  cor- 
pulence. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Sinclair's  voice  came  to 
them  from  behind  the  yew  walk.  Gillette  shifted 
her  position  uneasily  in  the  hammock,  and  again 
gave  him  the  impression  of  suffering  either  from 
intense  dread  or  excitement. 

"It  must  be  very  difficult,"  he  said  abruptly, 
"nowadays  to  try  and  live  up  to  religious  prin- 
ciples. The  times,  I  should  have  thought,  would 
have  rendered  any  close  application  of  Biblical 
theories  impossible." 

"Some  things,   I  think,   were  only  written  for 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  67 

the  times  and  country  in  which  the  Bible  was 
written,  don't  you?"  she  answered,  halting  more 
than  ever.  "But,  then,  if  one  tries  to  do  the  good 
one  can,  nothing  else  matters.  The  place  is  noth- 
ing. If  one  loves,  one's  heart  is  out  of  the  world, 
where " 

She  became  terrified  suddenly  at  her  own  out- 
flow of  spiritual  confidences,  and  stopped  short, 
distressed  as  at  some  breach  of  social  decorum. 

"Where — what,  Miss  Whittacker?    Where  one's 
beloved  is  should  be  the  proper  place." 

Crawford  had  terminated  her  sentence  as  the 
merest  jest,  and  suddenly  he  saw  by  her  face  that 
his  words  were  the  actual  ones  in  her  mind,  only 
with  a  spiritual  application  instead  of  his  own 
merely  sentimental  intention. 

Once  more  he  gave  h«.~  a  look  almost  verging 
upon  admiration.  The  i  oor  little  lady  he  had 
commenced  by  so  deeply  commiserating  now  ap- 
peared to  him  not  to  need  much  pity.  She  had 
chosen  better  than  to  trust  her  delicate  thoughts 
into  the  careless  hands  of  the  world.  She  had 
withdrawn  them  to  the  unsullible  territory  of  her 
own  soul. 

Gillette,  meanwhile,  seeing  her  mother  approach, 
half  rose  from  the  hammock  and  then  subsided 
again.  Mrs.  Sinclair  came  across  to  them  almost 
at  a  run,  and  the  moment  she  reached  the  cool 
shade  of  the  trees  held  out  her  arms  to  her  daugh- 
ter. 

"My  dearie,  I  have  heard,  and  I'm  simply  de- 
lighted. Bravo,  Gillette!  Good  heavens!  you 
don't  know  the  dread  I  'ad  that  you  meant  to 


68  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

be  like  a  Catholic,  wedded  to  the  Lord  only,  or 
whatever  it  is.  My  dear,  my  dear,  this  makes 
me  feel  positively  skittish." 

There  was  dead  silence.  Mrs.  Sinclair  kissed 
the  passive  cheeks  of  her  daughter,  while  Spenser 
stood  by,  without  any  visible  expression,  watch- 
ing both.  Gillette,  however,  as  she  disengaged 
herself  from  her  mother's  arms,  turned  to  look 
at  him  with  an  apologetic  wistfulness.  He  took 
no  notice  of  her  gaze,  but,  feeling  it  incumbent 
upon  him  to  do  something,  took  her  by  the  hand 
and  put  her  back  in  one  of  the  arm-chairs.  As 
he  did  so,  he  said  to  Crawford,  who  was  staring 
at  them  with  his  mouth  literally  open. 

"Allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  my  fiancee, 
Crawford.  Miss  Whittacker  half  an  hour  ago  did 
me  the  honor  to  consent  to  be  my  wife." 

Crawford  congratulated  them  in  the  dullest  and 
feeblest  fashion.  He  felt  his  wits  scattered,  his 
normal  affability  tottering  like  a  dotard. 

"My  God!"  was  his  mental  ejaculation;  and  he 
sat  down  beside  the  fluttering  mother,  flaccid  with 
surprise  and  shock. 

A  more  pitiable,  silly,  tragic  engagement  for 
both  parties  he  thought  it  difficult  to  conceive. 


CHAPTER  VII 

On  the  following  Saturday  Mrs.  Sinclair  gave 
her  party  on  the  river,  and  in  the  four  days  in- 
tervening Gillette  saw  nothing  of  her  fiance.  He 
had  arranged  to  come  the  next  day,  but  instead 
Gillette  received  a  note,  saying  that  he  was  un- 
well, taken  with  a  little  chill  sitting  late  under 
the  trees  thinking  of  her.  The  dew  had  been 
heavy,  and  in  consequence,  the  sooner  to  be  rid 
of  indisposition,  he  was  keeping  morosely  indoors 
until  Saturday. 

Gillette  read  his  letter  with  a  natural  pang  of 
disappointment.  Yet  in  several  ways  she  was 
satisfied  that  a  little  time  should  elapse  before 
their  re-meeting.  On  the  following  nights  Gil- 
lette lay  very  little  in  bed.  She  spent  them  on  her 
knees  by  the  window,  her  elbows  on  a  wooden 
prie-dieu,  her  eyes  on  the  beautiful  nudity  of  the 
night,  that  not  a  cloud  traversed. 

Until  the  dawn  detached  wanly  the  objects  of 
her  room,  Gillette  knelt  and  prayed  for  more 
strength,  more  love,  more  holiness.  In  phrases 
that  no  longer  halted  like  her  sentences  in  the 
daytime,  but  poured  out  of  her  intense  and  flu- 
ent, she  petitioned  for  all  sufferers,  for  all  sinners, 
for  all  peoples  of  every  nation ;  and  when  at  last 
she  ceased  for  very  brain-weariness,  she  would 
rest  her  head  in  her  hands  to  think,  with  what 
capacity  she  had  left,  of  the  dazzling  beauty  of 


70  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

the  Christ-life,  and  the  example  left  by  it  to  guide 
into  the  Mystic  Rose  where  kneel  the  saints  in 
perfect  sanctity.  Finally,  when  the  dawn  com- 
menced timidly  to  re-dress  the  unclothed  space 
of  darkness,  she  uttered  the  final  confession  of 
these  vigils — that  she  laid  her  happiness  in  God's 
keeping,  to  take  away  at  any  moment  should 
He  choose.  It  -was  the  certainty  that  she  could 
surrender  without  revolt  all  that  was  now  so 
sweet  to  her  that  finally  calmed  her  early  doubts, 
and  on  the  morning  of  the  Molesey  Regatta  Gil- 
lette, to  her  mother's  delight  a  little  pale  and 
tired-looking,  went  about  superintending  prep- 
arations with  a  perefctly  untroubled  gladness. 
It  was  not  often  she  could  take  part  in  her 
mother's  parties.  Usually  they  were  of  a  nature 
inimical  to  Gillette ;  but  this  little  jaunt  on  God's 
beautiful  river  did  not  feel  outside  the  limits  of 
innocent  enjoyment.  She  was  additionally  glad 
of  it,  moreover,  because  Ellice  was  to  be  there, 
too — Ellice  that  she  loved  almost  as  much  as  the 
man  whose  earthly  happiness  she  desired  hence- 
forward to  be  always  associated  with.  Gillette 
could  not  think  of  Ellice  without  tenderness. 
Never  since  they  had  found  each  other  as  little 
girls  at  school  had  there  been  a  dissension  to 
distort  the  fairness  of  their  mutual  memories,  or 
a  regrettable  incident  to  sow  doubts  concerning 
character.  Neither  knew  which  cared  the  most, 
and  both  were  aware  that  to  no  one  else  was 
there  the  same  intimate  revelation  of  thought, 
the  same  absolute  spontaneity.  Gillette,  indeed, 
often  felt  that  she  alone  truly  knew  this  beauti- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  71 

fill  girl  she  loved.  Always  to  others  she  saw  El- 
lice  smiling,  gay,  quietly  humorous  and  content. 
But  with  her  Ellice  would  often  during  the  last 
year — that  she  loved  unhappily  Gillette  felt  pain- 
fully certain — drop  this  gracious  show.  She  would 
sit  then  by  Gillette's  side,  with  lips  drawn  down 
like  a  lonely  child's ;  and  her  conversation  would 
be  serious  and  wistful,  swathed  in  an  unuttered 
request  to  the  other,  to  bear  with  a  pervading 
sadness,  seldom  granted  this  comfortable  ease  of 
unloosement. 

To-day  Gillette  expected  her  earlier  than  the 
rest,  having  written  to  ask  for  an  hour  alone 
together  before  the  party  started.  And,  indeed, 
she  had  only  reached  the  stage  in  her  own  dress- 
ing of  twisting  her  thick  brown  hair  in  a  plain 
coil  at  the  back  of  her  head,  when  the  sound  of 
silk  along  the  passage  heralded  Ellice' s  entrance. 

Gillette  ran  to  the  door,  and  let  the  other  in 
herself.  She  stood  still  as  Ellice,  having  kissed 
her,  slipped  past  in  to  the  room.  White — billowy, 
cloudy,  illusive — seemed  suddenly  to  etherealize 
the  small  space.  And  out  of  this  gleaming,  trans- 
parent, fluttering  pallor  rose  Ellice's  upturned 
face,  like  a  water-lily  from  a  sun-shimmering 
river. 

Gillette  contemplated  her  admiringly.  Her  own 
gray-spotted  muslin  lay  on  the  bed.  She  had 
taken  a  furtive  pleasure  in  it  until  this  moment; 
but,  looking  at  it  after  Ellice's  entrance,  it  ap- 
peared to  her  visibly  to  vulgarize  itself. 

"Oh,  how  beautiful  you  are!"  she  exclaimed 
with  an  indrawn  breath.  Surely  in  such  petal- 


72  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

like  whiteness  God's  saints  winged  their  way 
into  His  presence. 

Ellice,  whose  face  wore  an  unaccustomed  look 
of  weariness,  turned  to  place  her  parasol  on  the 
bed. 

"Gee-Gee,  don't  be  utterly  wayward.  And  tell 
me — your  letter  suggested  some  news.  Have  you 
anything  to  tell  me,  dear?" 

Gillette,  still  in  her  plain  white  petticoat  and 
petticoat  bodice,  had  commenced  to  wash  her 
hands.  At  the  abrupt  question,  she  seized  the 
towel  and  came  impulsively  toward  the  bed.  El- 
lice  was  looking  at  her,  but  the  expression  of  her 
face  had  such  a  curious  immobility,  Gillette  won- 
dered for  a  second  whether  the  other  already 
guessed,  and  suffered  at  the  contrast  to  her  own 
dreary  love-drama.  Her  eyes,  over  which  the  lids 
half  closed,  had  a  strange  light,  not  sweet,  but 
excited.  Gillette  commenced  drying  her  hands, 
rendered  unexpectedly  nervous.  Somehow  she  had 
expected  to  have  found  it  easier  to  confide  in 
Ellice. 

"Yes,  I  have  something  to  tell  you,  dear;  but — 
isn't  it  stupid? — I  am  half  nervous  even  of  talking 
it  over  to  you.  It " 

"Are  you  going  to  be  married,  Gee-Gee?" 

Instantly  the  girl  dropped  her  towel  on  the 
floor,  and  flung  her  arms,  confused,  round  the 
other's  neck.  She  did  not  see  the  fixed  gleam 
that  continued  in  her  friend's  eyes.  Pain,  per- 
plexity, and  revolt  merged  in  the  look  of  the  glit- 
tering pupils.  Gillette,  however,  only  felt  the  soft- 
ness of  the  arms  that  hugged  her,  and  the  loud 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  73 

heart-beats  of  the  breast  against  her  own.  When 
Ellice's  arms  slackened,  she  told  the  whole  cir- 
cumstance. While  doing  so  she  brushed  her  hair 
before  the  dressing-table.  It  did  not  need  brush- 
ing again,  but  Ellice's  scantiness  of  words  made 
confession  curiously  difficult.  At  last  it  was  told. 
Feeling  lighter  for  the  unburdenment,  Gillette 
turned  for  congratulation. 

Ellice  was  still  standing  by  the  bed,  and  as  the 
other  moved  from  the  dressing-table,  for  the  in- 
finitesimal portion  of  a  second,  it  seemed  to  her 
that  the  face  she  confronted  was  set  and  bitter. 
She  had  not  time,  however,  to  realize  the  thought 
before  the  other,  smiling  and  tender,  was  once 
more  kissing  her,  with  arms  about  her  neck. 

"Dress,"  was  all  she  said,  however,  "and  let 
us  go  and  talk  it  all  over  in  the  punt  under  the 
willows.  Only,  Gillette,  tell  me  first— you  are  ab- 
solutely happy  in  your  engagement,  aren't  you?" 

Gillette  mechanically  drew  her  new  black  chip 
hat  out  of  its  tissue  coverings.  Ellice's  manner 
was  so  cold,  in  comparison  to  her  expectation, 
that  it  filled  her  with  a  growing  impression  of 
trouble.  She  was  herself  at  that  moment  almost 
charming  to  look  at ;  for  Gillette,  though  unaware 
of  the  fact,  had  a  skin  that,  except  in  the  face 
where  the  red  rose  too  harshly,  was  like  a  sur- 
face of  satin.  Her  shoulders  were  beautiful  and 
white,  her  throat  and  breast  lovely  in  design, 
while  her  arms,  if  a  little  fat,  were  of  a  milky 
whiteness,  almost  dazzling.  Nothing,  indeed, 
could  have  been  more  lovable  and  coquettish 
than  the  rounded  elbows.  The  sorry  part  of  it 


74  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

•was  that  all  these  beauties  the  girl  kept  in  mis- 
erly concealment,  never  uncovering  either  neck, 
shoulders,  or  arms  in  public.  And  the  hands  that 
finished  off  the  milk -colored  arms  were  red  and  un- 
gainly, as  if  constantly  flushed  by  the  disconcer- 
tion of  an  unwilling  publicity. 

Ellice,  however,  gazing  at  her  as  rather  drearily 
Gillette  placed  her  hat  by  her  gown,  was  uncon- 
scious of  physical  charms.  Fiddling  the  curiously 
shaped  topaz  and  diamond  ring  she  wore,  she 
said  again,  but  as  if  with  an  effort : 

"Are  you  sure,  Gee-Gee,  that  you  will  be  happy 
as  the  wife  of  George  Spenser?" 

Utterly  distressed,  not  so  much  by  the  repeated 
question  as  by  a  certain  tone  in  the  other's  voice, 
Gillette  knelt  suddenly  by  her  friend,  clasping  the 
jewelled  hands. 

"Ellice,  why  do  you  ask  that  with  such — a 
still  kind  of  voice?  You,  who  have  known  him 
so  long — would  you  advise  me  not  to  marry  Mr. 
Spenser?"  The  words  were  impelled  out  of  her 
against  her  will. 

Uneasily  the  ringed  hands  disengaged  themselves 
from  her  hold.  With  one  Ellice  fingered  uncer- 
tainly the  edging  of  embroidery  that  ran  round 
the  top  of  Gillette's  petticoat  bodice. 

"I  could  not  advise  you  in  this  matter,  dear. 
How  could  any  one,  with  the  possibility  there 
must  be  of  making  an  irreparable  mistake?  Don't 
think  for  an  instant,  little  Gee-Gee,  I  speak  with 
any  detrimental  knowledge  of  Mr.  Spenser;  I 
know  nothing  but  good  of  him.  Only  marriage 
is  a  dangerous  undertaking  for  deep  natures. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  75 

Follies  like  me  and  your  mother  can  take  risks; 
we  but  brush  against  all  emotions.  You  immerse 
your  whole  dear  nature,  and  for  you,  conse- 
quently, almost  any  mistake  is  irretrievable.  But 
you  are  thoughtful  and  wise,  dear,  therefore  you 
must  have  substantial  reasons  for  being  assured 
of  the  future." 

Palpitating  emotion  was  like  a  hot  breath  on 
every  word.  The  hand  that  at  the  commencement 
fingered  Gillette's  embroidery  lay  forgotten  against 
the  girl's  breast.  They  looked  at  each  other  finally 
with  an  anxiety  too  great  for  speech.  Gillette's 
hands  sought  wistfully  once  more  for  the  jewelled 
fingers  of  the  other. 

"I  have  not  thought  much.  I  am  afraid  I  can 
only  feel." 

Ellice  sat  for  a  second  with  a  look  of  inatten- 
tion. Then,  brusquely,  she  pushed  the  kneeling 
girl  back  sufficiently  to  allow  herself  to  rise,  and 
went  over  to  the  window. 

"Oh,  how  hard  it  is  to  know!"  she  exclaimed 
with  a  passionate  vagueness. 

Gillette,  filled  with  uncomprehending  anxieties 
by  the  other's  apparent  rebuff,  rose  to  her  feet. 
Tears  swam  helplessly  in  her  large  eyes,  and  at 
last,  feeling  dazed  and  anguished,  she  commenced 
zestlessly  to  put  on  her  gray  muslin  dress.  She 
had  no  sooner  taken  it  off  the  bed,  however,  than 
Ellice  suddenly  came  back  to  her  and  seized  both 
her  hands. 

"Gee-Gee,  I  love  you,  and  your  happiness  is  very 
precious  to  me.  I  am  glad,  glad,  glad,  dearest, 
if  you  are  happy.  But  I  want  to  make  sure, 


76  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

that  is  all,  remembering  how  different  are  your 
views  from  the  worldliness  of  most  of  us.  I  want 
to  be  confident,  and  you  two  are  so  unlike.  Mr. 
Spenser  is  not  religious,  sweet.  Have  you  felt, 
since  as  you  say  love  can  only  feel,  that  there  is 
enough  sympathy  between  you  for  the  closeness 
and  permanence  of  marriage?" 

Her  voice  vibrated  with  unmistakable  anxiety, 
and  her  rings  cut  deep  into  Gillette's  fingers.  The 
solemnity  of  her  manner  affected  the  other  almost 
as  much  as  the  miserable  nature  of  what  she  said. 
When  she  ceased  speaking,  Gillette  replied  without 
a  pause.  There  were  no  grounds  any  longer  for 
hesitation. 

"You  are  right,  Ellice;  I  must  not  marry  him. 
I  have  been  mad.  How  could  I  make  such  a  man 
permanently  content  with  me?  But  you,  Ellice — 
you  have  loved,  too;  I  feel  that  always.  Then, 
you  know  how  it  comes  and  makes  one  helpless. 
Ellice,  you  have  been  kissed;  you  know  how  it 
feels  when  one  loves.  Oh,  Ellice!  Ellice!" 

"He  kissed  you  on  the  mouth?" 

"Yes." 

They  stood  for  a  second  immobile,  as  if  their 
words  had  mesmerized  them.  The  breasts  of  both 
heaved,  while  between  them,  like  a  tangible  hot 
presence,  came  the  sense  of  a  kiss  pressed  upon 
their  faces.  Ellice' s  lips  moved.  She  appeared  to 
select  and  reject  several  sentences.  Finally,  with 
a  gesture  wearily  impotent,  she  turned  away  to- 
ward the  bed. 

"Dress,"  she  said,  speaking  monotonously,  like 
a  person  asleep.  "I  saw  your  mother  just  now, 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  77 

ready  on  the  lawn.  And,  Gillette,  remember — I 
•want  you  to  remember — on  this  matter  I  have 
not  dared  to  advise  you." 

Gillette  moved  her  head  in  unthinking  assent, 
and  dressed  herself  without  speaking.  She  was 
praying  for  strength  to  unloose  herself  from  this 
man  whom  she  could  undoubtedly  not  make 
happy.  When  she  was  ready,  she  said  quietly: 

"Shall  we  go  down?" 

"Your  hat  is  crooked,"  replied  the  other,  whose 
face  still  looked  weary  and  disturbed. 

Gillette  lifted  a  hand  absently,  and  pushed  the 
hat  unconsciously  still  further  to  one  side.  Then 
suddenly  out  flashed  all  the  lights  of  the  child- 
like face,  and  Ellice  laughed  involuntarily. 

"Here,  let  me,"  she  said,  rectifying  with  her 
jewelled  fingers  the  angle  of  Gillette's  brim. 

Then  she  slipped  on  to  her  knees  and  commenced 
to  pull  the  muslin  skirt  into  shape  at  the  back. 
As  she  did  so,  Mrs.  Sinclair's  voice,  coming  up  to 
the  open  window  from  the  lawn,  startled  them 
both: 

"Gillette!  Gillette!  Mr.  Spenser  is  here.  Gil- 
lette, do  you  hear?  Mr.  Spenser  is  here." 

Ellice  was  still  at  the  pretty,  simple  gray  skirt. 
She  stopped  abruptly,  holding  on  to  the  muslin. 
Suddenly  she  felt  Gillette  tremble  as  if  seized  with 
a  helpless  panic.  Neither  answered  for  a  minute. 
Ellice' s  own  hands  had  grown  like  ice.  Between 
the  two  girls  a  swift  reunion  leaped  up,  born  of 
a  mutual  desire  not  to  reply  to  the  voice  calling 
and  not  to  go  out  into  the  noise  and  sunlight.  It 
persisted,  however,  the  loud,  insistent  call  for  them. 


78  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

"Let  us  go,  Gee-Gee,"  said  Ellice  at  last. 

As  they  moved  to  the  door  she  glanced  at  the 
saddened  face  beside  her.  Something  more,  either 
tender  or  helpful,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to 
say.  Yet  her  tongue  lay  as  if  paralyzed.  In  the 
hall  she  tried  once  more  to  utter  at  least  one 
phrase  to  comfort  the  friend  she  dared  not  coun- 
sel. Nothing  came.  They  passed  into  the  garden, 
and  her  repudiation  of  responsibility  remained  ab- 
solute and  untouched. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

When  Gillette  returned  to  the  house  that  night, 
her  engagement  not  only  still  existed,  but  more 
definitely  than  before.  The  first  -words  she  had 
uttered  to  her  fiance  had  been  a  stammered  re- 
quest to  withdraw  her  assent  of  the  other  day. 
Ellice  had  left  her  the  moment  they  reached  the 
garden,  crossing  over  to  speak  to  Mr.  Crawford, 
whom  she  knew  well,  and  who  was  standing  a 
little  apart  in  conversation  with  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

George  Spenser  listened  with  contracted  eye- 
brows to  Gillette's  statement.  His  skin  in  the 
brilliant  sunlight  looked  bloodless,  and  even  as 
she  spoke  the  girl  felt  a  pang  of  remorse.  He 
was  ill,  and  she  gave  him  pain  that  she  herself 
might  be  secured  from  it  in  the  future.  He  re- 
quired nursing,  money,  care;  and  she,  who  had 
through  her  wealth  so  much  power  to  give  him 
what  was  needful,  proposed  deliberately  to  refuse. 

When  she  had  finished  speaking,  he  looked  at 
her  angrily. 

"Is  this  you,  Gillette,  who  do  not  know  your 
mind  for  two  minutes  together?  You,  who  wrote 
to  me  yesterday  that " 

"Don't,  don't!"  exclaimed  the  girl  piteously. 

She  could  not  face  a  quotation  from  words 
written  in  solitude  and  silence.  Both  could  hear 
Ellice' s  voice  at  a  little  distance ;  a  piece  of  her 


80  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

•white  skirt  showed  behind  the  trunk  of  a  tree 
where  she  stood  talking. 

With  a  note  of  irritation  that  the  persuasion  of 
his  words  could  not  disguise,  Spenser  rapidly  re- 
futed every  reason  put  forward  by  Gillette.  She 
was  already  emptied  of  arguments  when  Mrs. 
Sinclair  and  the  rest  of  the  party  came  up  to 
them.  Spenser  and  Ellice  shook  hands  briefly, 
while  Crawford  greeted  the  coming  bride.  He 
thought  her  considerably  less  plain  than  on  the 
day  of  their  first  meeting,  though  the  incongru- 
ity of  the  couple  remained  as  hopelessly  obvious 
as  ever. 

He  was  more  interested,  however,  at  the  mo- 
ment with  the  conduct  of  Miss  Bastien  and  Spen- 
ser, for,  like  most  of  their  acquaintances,  he  had 
long  believed  in  some  secret  understanding  be- 
tween these  two.  He  had,  indeed,  heard  a  good 
deal  too  much  gossip  about  them,  not  to  credit 
a  certain  amount,  at  least,  of  the  semi-scandal 
lightly  afloat  concerning  this  unacknowledged 
love  affair.  How  she  would  take  this  collapse 
was  the  question  that  interested  him.  Not  that 
he  had  much  liking  for  the  girl.  She  was  extremely 
good-looking ;  but  he  knew  a  great  many  women 
equally  attractive  in  appearance,  and  she  gave 
him  always  the  impression  of  being  monotonously 
similar  to  a  number  of  others;  of  having  the  same 
little  tricks  of  fascination,  the  same  cultivated 
smile,  the  same  shallow  outlook  and  intentions. 

Still,  the  moment  lent  her  an  extraneous  inter- 
est. She  was  now  a  woman  placed  in  an  inter- 
esting situation.  Spenser  treated  her  brusquely, 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  81 

as  if  either  conscious  of  resentment  or  fearing 
his  own  capacity  for  control.  Crawford  thought 
he  had  seldom  seen  him  look  so  unpleasant,  in 
spite  of  the  slight  charm  his  iron-gray  hair  gave 
at  all  times  to  his  appearance.  But  the  girl  was 
tranquil  to  a  degree  annihilating  to  ordinary  sus- 
picion, and  calm  of  eyes  and  mouth,  as  if  emerged 
from  pleasant  slumber.  Crawford  suspected  her 
not  one  whit  the  less  for  this  circumstance,  but 
he  admired  her  newly.  Pluck  had  its  own  undeni- 
able dignity.  After  all,  these  stereotyped  women, 
if  they  were  fatiguing,  had  in  compensation  a  fine 
conduct  in  emergencies.  The  poor  little  stodgy 
lady  of  religious  mania  would  have  fared  ill,  he 
concluded,  in  a  similar  crisis. 

All  that  day  Spenser  remained  as  if  riveted  by 
an  all-absorbing  devotion  to  the  side  of  his  vacil- 
lating fiancee.  The  vision  of  his  future  power 
had  gripped  him  during  the  days  of  absence.  He 
saw  little  at  the  moment  but  this  gold  which 
could  gratify  every  whim  save  one.  If,  as  he 
leaned  forward  in  talk  to  Gillette,  a  fine  white 
skirt  passed  within  reach  of  vision,  he  gave  no 
sign  of  being  concerned  by  its  vicinity.  All  that 
day  he  worked  for  one  thing  only — to  secure  his 
grasp  of  this  fortune,  wriggling  to  escape  him. 
Gillette,  when  at  last  she  went  weary  to  bed, 
could  remember  nothing  of  the  regatta,  or  the 
mealr,  or  the  people  who  had  formed  their  party. 
All  that  had  been  allowed  entrance  to  her  under- 
standing was  the  burning  phrases  of  the  man 
who  had  never  left  her  side,  who  had  followed 
as  a  shadow  wherever  she  moved,  and  had  beaten 
6 


82  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

down  one  by  one  every  scruple  she  could  raise. 
She  ended  the  expedition  so  utterly  -worn  out  she 
could  scarcely  drag  her  feet  across  the  lawn  back 
into  the  house,  but  with  the  permission  securely 
wrung  from  her  that  Spenser  and  her  mother 
should,  whenever  they  chose,  definitely  settle  ar- 
rangements for  the  wedding. 

On  the  following  afternoon,  therefore,  Spenser 
held  a  private  interview  with  Mrs.  Sinclair.  It 
took  place  ostensibly  to  decide  the  date  of  mar- 
riage; but  in  the  minds  of  both,  when  they  shook 
hands  in  the  immense  drawing-room,  with  its 
modern  imitations  of  Louis  Seize  furniture,  the 
same  thought  lay  uppermost.  The  money — Gil- 
lette's money — that  was  the  real  subject  they  had 
to  discuss.  Mrs.  Sinclair  loved  her  daughter — the 
latter  was,  indeed,  the  one  profound  affection  of 
her  life;  nevertheless,  she  had  not  the  least  hes- 
itation in  urging  this  marriage.  That  George 
Spenser  did  not  love  the  girl  extremely  she  took 
for  granted ;  but  at  the  same  time  she  regarded 
him  not  only  as  a  desirable  lift  in  the  social  lad- 
der for  both,  but  as  a  protector  for  the  girl  from 
dangerous  religious  impulses.  Single,  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair never  knew  from  day  to  day  in  what  ridic- 
ulous charity  a  slice  of  Gillette's  fortune  would 
not  go.  She  lived  pursued  by  perpetual  fear  that 
sooner  or  later  the  girl  would  fling  the  whole  of 
it  away  from  her.  And  a  worse  calamity  than 
this  Mrs.  Sinclair  could  not  conceive — to  have  a 
fortune  and  deliberately  discard  it.  George  Spen- 
ser would  prevent  any  possibility  of  such  a  disas- 
ter in  the  future.  Gillette,  denuded  of  the  gold 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  83 

that  was  like  a  shimmering  haze  about  her,  was 
not  likely  to  be  appetizing  to  any  man.  Besides, 
Mrs.  Sinclair  felt  no  fool  in  certain  matters,  and 
this  man's  need  of  riches  was  unmistakable.  Well, 
he  should  have  it,  in  order  that  Gillette,  too, 
might  retain  it  and  enjoy  it.  Fortunately,  the 
latter  believed  in  the  submission  of  wives.  In 
this  one  thing,  at  least,  Mrs.  Sinclair  felt  grate- 
ful to  the  Bible ;  but  for  its  persistent  reiteration 
of  the  obedience  due  from  the  weaker  vessel,  even 
marriage  might  have  been  a  useless  precaution. 
As  it  was,  Gillette's  engagement  rolled  an  increas- 
ing load  off  her  mother's  heart,  and  she  met 
George  Spenser  prepared  candidly  to  thrash  out 
the  question,  both  as  to  how  the  girl's  fortune 
was  invested  and  the  power  over  its  expenditure 
he  might  expect  in  the  future. 

Honestly,  she  looked  upon  him  at  this  time  as 
an  ally  who  would  help  her  to  save  Gillette  de- 
spite herself,  for,  in  truth,  the  girl  had  no  sus- 
picion how  greatly  her  religious  denials  tormented 
her  mother.  But  Mrs.  Sinclair  could  not  compre- 
hend any  happiness  not  based  on  physical  com- 
fort, and  it  never  ceased  to  be  a  grief  to  her 
when  Gillette  passed  all  animal  food,  or  denied 
herself  some  comfort  of  mind  or  body,  that  the 
soul  might  not  grow  enervated. 

As  regards  this  marriage,  moreover,  to  do  Mrs. 
Sinclair  justice,  she  had  made  the  most  earnest 
inquiries  as  to  George  Spenser's  life  and  character, 
before  encouraging  his  suit  with  all  the  impetuos- 
ity of  her  nature.  Nothing  had  come  to  her  ears 
of  even  a  mildly  offensive  nature.  No  grave  vices 


84  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

•were  known  or  apparently  suspected,  and  his 
servant,  Mrs.  Temple,  whom  she  questioned  un- 
der a  pretext  of  a  second  time  washing  her  hands 
on  the  memorable  Tuesday,  had  nothing  but  kind- 
ness to  relate.  The  gravity,  in  addition,  usually 
attached  to  the  marriage  state  had  no  meaning 
to  Mrs.  Sinclair.  Given  a  large  house,  and  plenty 
of  money  for  entertainment,  Mrs.  Sinclair  could 
not  see  but  that,  even  should  one's  selection  not 
prove  -wholly  satisfying  to  the  expectations,  it 
was  easy  to  bear  the  disappointment  philosoph- 
ically. There  -were  plenty  of  other  good  things 
in  life  besides  adoring  husbands. 

The  interview,  therefore,  proved  astoundingly 
easy  to  both.  What  George  Spenser  himself  could 
have  suggested  only  with  extreme  vagueness  and 
circumlocution,  he  found  uttered  clearly  and  un- 
abashed for  him.  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  already  had 
a  definite  understanding  with  Gillette,  and  could 
say  with  perfect  truth  that  her  daughter  desired 
to  settle  half  of  her  income  of  sixteen  thousand 
pounds  a  year  upon  her  husband  on  their  wed- 
ding-day; the  other  half  she  retained  for  her 
housekeeping  expenses,  her  charities,  and  personal 
expenditure.  And  so  deeply  did  Mrs.  Sinclair 
dread  her  daughter's  generosity,  that  in  stating 
this  she  nearly  added  an  open  appeal  to  him  to 
try  and  see  that  these  charities  became  no  more 
excessive  than  was  necessary. 

George  Spenser  felt  practically  flabbergasted  by 
the  whole  interview.  The  ease  with  which  an 
unpleasant  subject  had  been  disposed  of  staggered 
him;  nothing,  moreover,  could  have  satisfied  his 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  85 

•wishes  more  than  the  proposals  made.  He  had 
never  desired  control  of  more  than  half  Gillette's 
income;  it  sufficed  to  give  him  the  scope  he 
wanted,  and  with  the  whole  would  have  arisen 
a  sense  of  excessive  obligation,  quite  impossible. 
His  equal  share  yielded  a  fictitious  but  bland  air 
of  justice  to  the  arrangement.  He  had  now  only 
to  ascertain  that  his  stout  bride  did  not  like  trav- 
elling— and  that  was  surely  beyond  question  with 
a  mind  so  closed  as  hers — and  the  future  would 
prove  all  that  could  be  wished. 

Quite  a  wave  of  tenderness  for  Gillette  herself 
welled  up  in  him,  as  he  sat  fencing  with  Mrs. 
Sinclair  in  the  large,  cold  drawing-room,  with  its 
array  of  silver  frames  and  flower-vases  and  its 
expensive  meaningless  brocades;  and,  filled  with 
triumph,  his  manner  remained  admirable  through- 
out. His  agreement  to  everything  was  the  calm 
and  simple  acceptance  of  a  state  of  affairs  he,  as 
a  man  of  the  world,  could  not  but  consider  best 
for  both.  More  than  once  he  reminded  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair that  their  business  was  to  think  out  the 
most  comfortable  arrangement  for  Gillette.  At 
no  moment  was  there  any  pretence  of  wishing 
the  fortune  non-existent,  but  throughout  their 
argument  he  referred  undeviatingly  to  the  girl's 
happiness  as  the  only  measure  by  which  affairs 
were  to  be  regulated.  He  inquired  minutely  as  to 
the  girl's  tastes,  and  to  the  degree  of  elegance 
her  religion  would  find  pleasure  in.  Altogether,  his 
attitude  of  sincere  if  mild  affection  was  so  superbly 
maintained  that  Mrs.  Sinclair  finally  left  to  fetch 
her  daughter,  genuinely  overflowing  with  his 


86  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

praises.  The  girl  descended  to  him  after  them 
•with  quite  a  little  glow  of  heart  at  their  un- 
stinted measure. 

The  engaged  couple  spent  the  rest  of  the  after- 
noon together  in  the  garden,  but  to  George  Spen- 
ser it  was  the  easiest  and  pleasantest  time  he 
had  ever  passed  in  the  girl's  company.  So  indis- 
soluble was  she  for  the  moment  from  all  she  gave 
him  that  he  scarcely  considered  her  ugly,  grati- 
tude clothing  her  for  a  little  in  tentative  vague 
beauties  unperceived  before.  When  Mrs.  Sinclair 
called  them  in  to  dinner,  there  had  never  been 
so  much  spontaneous  accord  between  them.  Gil- 
lette was  laughing  frankly,  delighted  with  the 
new  power  to  feel  at  ease  with  him  on  ordinary 
topics,  while  Spenser  was  plying  her  with  the 
tender  chaff  of  the  absurdly  happy  lover.  He 
had  even  reached  the  pitch  of  telling  himself  she 
would  be  quite  a  comfortable  little  body  to  live 
with — healthy,  simple,  and,  with  the  absorption 
of  her  religious  duties,  not  intolerably  dependent 
upon  one's  attention.  He  would  soon  get  quite 
attached  to  her;  positively,  he  felt  a  brotherly 
affection  already. 

For  the  next  week  they  saw  each  other  con- 
stantly. The  harmony  was  less  genuine  than 
upon  the  first  afternoon,  but  there  was  sunshine, 
the  shady  garden  by  the  river,  and  the  immense 
charm  of  sustained  good  weather,  to  assist  George 
Spenser's  temper.  By  the  following  Saturday, 
however,  he  felt  the  strain  begin  to  tell.  He 
woke  in  the  morning  to  find  the  thought  of  the 
Riverside  House  and  the  meek  Gillette  oppress 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  87 

him  like  a  thunderstorm.  On  the  previous  day 
he  had  found  the  time  crawl  by  so  tediously  that 
at  the  sounding  of  the  dinner-gong  he  had  found 
difficulty  in  concealing  his  relief.  It  -was,  after 
all,  an  incredibly  laborious  business  to  talk  for 
four  solid  hours  at  a  time  to  a  person  entirely 
uncongenial.  Even  the  one  discussion  close  to 
his  heart — the  refurnishing  of  Rook  House — grad- 
ually became  tedious  for  lack  of  intelligent  re- 
sponse. Gillette  had  never  a  suggestion  to  offer : 
to  everything  she  gave  the  same  unqualified  as- 
sent, until  from  sheer  nervous  antipathy  to  the 
monotony  he  longed  to  box  her  ears.  Only  one 
room  she  had  asked  to  be  allowed  to  furnish  her- 
self. She  required  it,  apparently,  for  reunions  of 
children  and  poor  mothers.  But,  except  this  one 
apartment,  she  left  everything  in  Spenser's  hands. 
Not  that  she  was  as  destitute  of  ideas  as  he  sup- 
posed, only  the  desires  she  had  were  of  a  much 
less  subtle  nature  than  his,  and  ran,  she  saw 
immediately,  in  entirely  different  directions.  In  a 
house  where  the  old  Italian  influence  would  ap- 
parently be  paramount,  she  had  nothing  helpful 
to  say.  Moreover,  all  she  desired  was  his  happi- 
ness. Her  one  delight  lay  in  compassing  that  at 
any  personal  sacrifice  whatsoever. 

By  the  Saturday,  however,  Spenser's  nerves 
were  in  a  state  of  collapse.  Another  day  of  Gil- 
lette without  an  interval's  recuperation  would, 
he  felt,  be  dangerous  as  well  as  painful.  Twice 
the  evening  before  he  had  found  the  words,  "My 
dear  girl,  don't  be  a  silly  little  fool!"  on  the  tip 
of  his  tongue.  The  necessary  show  of  interest, 


88  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

moreover,  in  her  religious  work  taxed  him  al- 
ready to  an  appalling  extent.  The  very  look  of 
sudden  eagerness  that  entered  into  the  timid  eyes 
when  he  questioned  her  upon  her  East  End  la- 
bors, from  touching  him,  had  become  a  cause  of 
absolute  irritation.  On  the  Friday  it  had  taken 
him  ten  minutes  before  he  could  make  up  his 
mind  to  start  the  subject.  So  the  following  morn- 
ing he  sent  a  telegram  from  the  club  in  London — 

"Obliged  to  go  home  until  Monday. 

"GEORGE." 

— and  took  an  early  afternoon  train  to  the  quie- 
tude of  Rook  House.  He  wanted  to  free  him- 
self from  the  Gillette  atmosphere,  already  hope- 
lessly on  his  nerves.  But  also  he  had  an  obscure 
indefinite  desire  to  be  alone  at  Rook  House  with 
thoughts  of  Ellice. 

She  had  scarcely  entered  his  mind  until  the  even- 
ing before.  The  absorption  of  Gillette's  fortune 
had  been  like  a  mania.  But  suddenly  on  the  Fri- 
day he  had  asked  himself  whether,  the  ba  ttle  once 
gained,  he  should  experience  the  smallest  pleasure 
in  its  spoils.  And  immediately  after-ward  followed 
an  immeasurable  yearning  for  a  day  alone  with 
Ellice. 

During  the  hour  that  followed,  behind  his  talk 
with  Gillette,  he  had  endeavored  to  conceive  the 
exact  degree  of  charm  there  would  be  in  having 
Ellice  later  on  stay  with  them  at  Rook  House. 
He  had  also  tried  to  decide  which  among  the 
many  spare  bedrooms  he  should  select  for  her, 
and  how,  when  chosen,  he  should  furnish  it. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  89 

Finally  he  became  so  engrossed  in  the  subject  he 
had  allowed  the  conversation  to  drop  altogether ; 
and  Gillette,  seeing  him  lean  back  in  his  garden- 
chair,  evidently  preoccupied  by  some  abrupt 
thought,  ceased  explaining  her  ideas  for  a  chil- 
dren's home  in  the  country,  and,  taking  some 
needlework  from  a  little  table  by  her  side,  had 
commenced  to  work  in  a  meek,  contented  silence. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Meanwhile  George  Spenser,  leaning  back  with 
his  eyes  closed,  had  surrendered  himself  to  the 
unexpected  fascination  of  thinking  out  a  room 
for  Ellice.  At  the  moment  it  actually  retinged 
the  fading  colors  of  the  present  with  a  new  glow, 
so  extreme  was  his  interest  in  the  idea.  Uncon- 
scious of  the  woman  working  at  his  side,  he  de- 
veloped scheme  after  scheme  of  decoration.  At 
last  a  smile  touched  his  lips ;  he  had  it — the  ideal 
bedroom  for  Ellice.  To  begin  with,  it  must  be 
large,  to  make  her  a  little  delicious  gem  set  in 
the  heart  of  it;  one  of  the  big  rooms  on  the  south 
side  of  the  house,  therefore,  should  be  selected. 
The  paper  he  knew  already,  an  old-fashioned 
white  and  oyster  gray,  spotted  like  a  bird's  egg. 
Then,  her  carpet  should  be  a  thick  velvet  pile  of 
white  with  pale-colored  pink  roses  scattered  over 
its  surface.  It  delighted  him  to  picture  her  pretty 
bare  feet  treading  on  the  soft  texture  of  the  roses, 
lying  as  if  strewn  there  in  perpetual  homage. 
Her  dressing-table  also  must  be  white,  with — 
he  would  find  one  somewhere — an  old  china  pow- 
der-puff unique  in  its  immensity,  china  candle- 
sticks, and  little  china  boxes,  equally  rare  and 
beautiful,  to  hold  her  pins  and  trinkets,  her  thou- 
sand and  one  quaint  woman's  necessities.  Then 
right  away  at  one  end  of  the  room  should  be 
Ellice's  great  four-poster  bed,  to  contain  little 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  91 

Ellice — half  lost  within  it — little  Ellice  whose  skin 
would  be  like  the  petal  of  a  pale  rose  in  all  its 
whiteness — a  whiteness  not  cold,  but  rich,  subtle, 
triumphant,  like  Ellice's  own  beauty.  Few  women 
could  bear  such  an  absence  of  color !  Fancy  the 
average  woman's  skin  against  a  sea  of  white! 
To  see  Ellice's — how  exquisite!  All  her  curtains, 
and  her  sofa,  and  her  armchair  should  be  of 
palest  pearl-toned  satin,  the  seats  silk-fringed  and 
deep-cushioned.  He  imagined  her,  then,  sitting 
in  one  of  them  by  the  fire  in  an  attitude  of  care- 
less repose  before  she  went  to  bed,  or  dressed  for 
dinner.  She  would  have  flung  off  her  gown,  and 
her  shoulders  and  little  arms  would  stand  out 
like  the  delicate  flushing  whiteness  of  a  shell, 
against  the  billowing  cushions  that  pressed  about 
her  young  warm  body  like  a  caress.  Ah !  Ellice's 
apartment — how  it  cheered  him !  It  almost  gave 
new  interest  to  his  rapidly  palling  engagement; 
for  already  there  were  intervals  when  he  could 
not  find  the  least  zest  in  this  fatiguing  fortune. 
The  horrible  possibility  of  being  bored  beyond 
endurance  by  it  had  occurred  to  him  more  than 
once,  so  inseparable  were  its  benefits  from  its 
incumbrances. 

But  just  the  amusement  of  making  a  room  for 
his  heart's  delight,  his  lovely,  laughing  Ellice, 
heartened  him  again.  Her  pictures  would  have 
to  be  chosen,  a  few  pieces  of  color  placed  here 
and  there,  her  looking-glass — the  looking-glass 
Ellice  would  stand  in  front  of  every  day — and  the 
books  that  were  to  be  always  there  for  her  read- 
ing, bound  in  delicate  gay  colors.  Why,  she 


92  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

would  be  like  a  bride  in  her  bedroom,  itself  white 
as  it  should  be  for  a  bride. 

He  rose  suddenly.  The  bridal  fancy,  entered 
unawares  into  his  thoughts,  had  roused  disagree- 
able sensations.  In  the  garden  adjoining  two 
little  girls  were  playing  about,  watched  over  by 
a  slender,  graceful  woman,  evidently  their  mother. 
The  sight  increased  his  irritable  regrets.  To  have 
as  wife,  bearing  one's  name,  and  like  a  patent 
expression  of  one's  taste,  a  creature  like  Gillette, 
made  one  the  butt  of  every  joker.  My  God !  when 
she  grew  old,  the  size  of  her,  the  double  chin ! 
Women  like  Ellice  and  this  well-bred  neighbor 
scarcely  grew  old  at  all.  There  remained  always 
the  same  finished  elegance,  the  same  charm  of 
dress,  voice  and  manner. 

He  did  not  feel  altogether  a  successful  lover  for 
the  rest  of  his  visit.  At  dinner  a  city  Jew,  also 
a  guest,  drew  from  him  several  testy  contradic- 
tions on  subjects  he  had  no  real  interest  in  what- 
soever. His  sole  desire  was  to  annoy  the  Jew. 
Afterward  a  moonlight  row  with  Japanese  lan- 
terns was  proposed  by  Mrs.  Sinclair.  It  would 
have  put  an  end  to  all  possibility  of  another  tete- 
a-tete  with  Gillette,  but  again,  solely  to  be  un- 
pleasant, he  protested.  The  affair  ended  in  Mrs. 
Sinclair  and  her  other  visitors  going,  and  leav- 
ing Gillette  and  her  fiance  alone  together. 

' 'Shall  we  walk  a  little  up  and  down?"  she  asked 
timidly,  when  the  languid  splashing  of  the  oars 
had  died  away  in  the  distance.  There  was  the 
faint  suggestion  of  a  breeze  at  last.  The  trees 
stirred  every  now  and  then  in  the  silence,  like 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  93 

the  sound  of  a  woman's  skirt,  coming  toward 
them  and  then  ceasing  abruptly.  Gillette,  quick 
to  feel  the  least  variation  of  mood  in  those  she 
loved,  had  realized  from  the  commencement  of 
dinner  that  something  had  disturbed  or  angered 
her  fiance.  Tremulously  she  hoped  for  some  ex- 
planation. 

George  Spenser  assented  to  the  walk,  and,  hav- 
ing received  permission  to  smoke,  walked  beside 
her  as  a  casual  acquaintance  might.  They  talked 
dully,  of  indifferent  subjects.  Several  times  he 
asked  the  girl  if  she  were  not  tired.  There  was 
no  reason  for  this  anxiety,  and  after  a  second 
inquiry  she  became  certain  that  he  desired  to  get 
rid  of  her.  It  was  not  nearly  time  for  his  train 
back  to  town,  but  she  felt  certain  that  he  wanted 
her  to  go  to  bed,  so  that  he  might  be  alone.  Her 
heart  began  to  beat  with  an  indefinite  fear. 

"Would  you  like  to  be  alone,  George?"  she  asked 
at  last,  a  little  miserable  appeal  showing  in  her 
delivery.  He  heard  it  and  felt  touched.  Poor 
child !  she  was  not  so  dull  as  she  looked. 

"No,  no,  dearest!  To  tell  the  truth,  I  have  a 
touch  of  liver  to-night.  I  feel  out  of  sorts,  and 
therefore  horrible  company  for  you.  Little  Gil- 
lette must  try  and  not  be  more  bored  than  she 
can  help." 

"I  should  never  be  bored,  George,  because  you 
were  not  in  a  mood  to  talk.  To  be — with  you — 
makes  me — happy.  Besides,  it  is  I  who  am  al- 
ways— afraid — of  wearying  you." 

Them  she  was  to  some  extent  comforted,  for 
Spenser  put  his  arm  round  her,  kissed  her  cheek 


94  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

and  neck,  and  called  her  his  "adorable  little 
goose." 

But  the  next  afternoon  he  sat  alone  at  Rook 
House,  in  the  room  destined  for  Ellice,  and 
mapped  out  all  that  should  fill  it,  how,  and  why. 

While  he  was  at  breakfast  on  the  following 
morning,  Sunday,  moreover,  there  came  a  letter 
from  her.  One  from  Gillette  lay  underneath,  but 
he  opened  it  first,  in  order  to  get  her  off  his  mind 
before  perusing  the  other.  Gillette  wrote: 

"DEAREST:  Is  it  troublesome  business  calls  you 
home  to-day?  And  can  I  do  anything?  It  is, 
and  must  always  be,  my  chief  delight  when  I  can 
do  anything  to  make  you  happy,  or  relieve  you 
of  unpleasantness.  Will  you  remember  this,  dear? 

"You  are  in  my  thoughts  nearly  all  the  day, 
and  I  pray  so  often  I  may  be  in  the  future  what 
you  called  me  the  other  day — your  'little  com- 
forter.' It  seems  too  great  a  thing  for  me;  and 
I  am  afraid,  for,  though  you  will  not  listen  when 
I  say  so,  it  is  true  that  I  am  very,  very  stupid. 
But  I  love  you,  and  perhaps  that  will  teach  me 
to  be  more  worthy  of  you. 

"Just  as  I  wrote  this  I  said  to  myself,  'He  loves 
me' ;  and  it  seemed  so  impossible  I  had  to  repeat 
it  again  and  again,  such  a  horrible  incapacity 
came  over  me  to  believe  it  could  be  true.  George, 
dear,  I  don't  think  I  ever  thanked  you  before  for 
loving  me.  But  I  say  'Thank  you'  now,  and  the 
tears  are  tumbling  on  to  the  table  with  the  funny 
pain  that,  it  seems,  mixes  with  very  great  happiness. 
Your  foolish 

"GILLETTE." 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  95 

There  was  a  grace  of  expression  as  well  as  of 
thought  about  the  letter  that  surprised  him.  He 
did  not  immediately  put  it  aside  for  the  other. 
Certainly  the  girl  was  by  no  means  the  nonentity 
she  looked.  Every  now  and  then  a  charming  na- 
ture put  forth  trembling  blossoms.  The  pity  of 
it  was  they  should  fall  upon  such  barren  ground ; 
for  he  knew  already  that  in  the  future  he  should 
never  be  able  to  forgive  her  for  not  being  Ellice. 
To  recognize  distinction  in  her  would  actually 
increase  his  morbid  distaste.  All  the  apprecia- 
tion he  possessed  he  wanted  to  give  to  Ellice. 
At  least  she  should  have  all  he  had.  Still,  re- 
lieved of  Gillette's  presence,  he  did  her  justice. 
He  acknowledged  a  certain  beauty  of  mind,  and, 
through  the  acknowledgment,  sharpened  his  in- 
tention to  be  in  conduct  at  least  an  irreproach- 
able husband. 

Subsequently,  when  the  rest  of  his  correspon- 
dence had  been  disposed  of,  he  turned  to  the  let- 
ter addressed  by  Ellice.  Her  handwriting  was 
small,  but  not  illegible.  Each  letter  remained 
clear,  and  the  capitals  were  exquisitely  formed. 
Spenser  opened  it  after  looking  ruminatively  at 
the  address.  She  wrote: 

"DEAR  OLD  FRIEND:  Congratulate  me.  Like 
you,  I  have  grown  tired  of  singleness,  and  find 
myself  suddenly  surrendering  to  the  charm  of  a  life 
a  deux.  Yesterday  I  promised  to  marry  to  Mr. 
Temple  Newngham.  You  who  know  him  do  not 
need  to  be  sung  his  praises.  Everybody,  I  think, 
sincerely  congratulates  me,  for  almost  every  one 


96  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

loves  him.  So  do  I,  and  must  have  done,  it  seems, 
for  some  time  past.  And  yet  I  have  to  thank 
you  in  some  measure  for  the  discovery.  Without 
your  reminder  that  we  were  growing  old,  and 
would  soon  be  past  the  age  of  love-making,  I 
might  still  have  continued  indefinitely  unaware 
of  the  hidden  desire  for  a  change.  You  are 
the  fairy  godfather  that  brought  Maxime  and 
I  together,  and  I  blow  you  a  kiss  of  grati- 
tude. 

"And  you,  too,  have  happiness.  Moreover,  Gil- 
lette, dear  Gillette,  loves  you  -with  a  beautiful, 
profound  devotion.  You  see  already,  don't  you? 
how  more  than  ordinarily  good  you  must  be  to 
her :  natures  so  reticent  suffer  so  abysmally.  Re- 
member always  to  be  very  tender  to  your  new 
fiancee.  And  I  think  I  can  promise  you  then 
that,  year  by  year,  instead  of  the  customary  de- 
terioration of  feeling,  yours  will  intensify.  One 
could  not  live  -with  Gillette  and  not  adore  her. 
Also  she  will  make  you  a  better  man,  dear  friend, 
for  one  could  not  live  with  her,  either,  and  not 
grow  to  desire  goodness.  I  must  stop.  Maxime 
will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes,  and  I  want  to 
look  a  pretty  lady  when  he  comes. 

"Your  old  friend  about  to  be  a  wife, 

"ELLICE." 

He  read  the  letter  through,  conscious  that  if  it 
were  for  the  salvation  of  his  life  he  could  not  re- 
read a  line.  Every  word  heated  his  flesh.  The 
unexpectedness  of  the  blow,  moreover,  crushed 
with  a  concentrated  weight.  Ellice,  who  was  to 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  97 

have  been  like  a  dainty  bride  in  her  white  room, 
had  suddenly  spoiled  everything.  True,  he  had 
told  her  to  marry.  He  damned  his  own  obtuse- 
ness.  Why,  the  future  was  to  have  been  all  El- 
lice!  And  now  she  was  engaged — and  happily — 
to  be  married.  The  completing  goad  of  the  whole 
communication  was  that  he  did  not  know  how 
much  of  it  to  believe.  One  moment  he  took  the 
letter  for  a  diabolical,  deliberate  sword-thrust — 
a  lie  as  to  feeling  from  beginning  to  end;  the 
next  he  could  not.  Its  statements  were  too 
unequivocal.  Besides,  the  paragraph  as  regards 
her  friend  rang  true  enough.  Could  one  slip  like 
that  from  rank  dissimulation  to  pure  sincerity? 
Certainly  he  felt  quite  capable  of  such  an  achieve- 
ment himself,  but  to  find  a  similar  capacity  in  a 
young  and  lovable  woman  was  horrible.  Rising 
hastily  from  the  table,  he  tore  the  letter  piece- 
meal and  flung  it  into  the  slop-basin.  Yes,  some 
of  it  was  undoubtedly  intentional.  "About  to  be 
a  -wife!"  That  had  been  -written  with  fore- 
thought. Physically  sick,  he  went  and  leaned 
against  the  woodwork  of  the  door  leading  into 
the  garden,  possessed  by  a  desire  to  throw  him- 
self face  downward  somewhere  in  order  not  to 
enunciate  senseless  abuse  and  remonstrance. 

Ellice,  Ellice,  little  Ellice!  He  wanted  to  take 
her  in  his  arms  and  coax  her  back  into  the  mood 
he  worshipped.  And  suddenly  it  flashed  upon  his 
mind  that  but  for  him  this  would  never  have  hap- 
pened. Good  God!  what  had  he  done?  Ellice 
another  man's  wife !  The  force  of  the  revelation 
increased  perpetually.  He  went  out  and  walked 
7 


98  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

up  and  down  under  the  trees  with  a  face  scarcely 
sane-looking. 

What  a  fool  he  had  been!  For  he  wanted  her 
himself.  Brusquely,  everything  shrivelled  up  that 
concealed  the  naked  facts.  For  a  second  he  stood 
still  as  if  a  streak  of  lightning  had  torn  down  the 
sky  in  front  of  him.  In  truth,  for  that  space  of 
time  comprehension  was  like  a  blinding  light,  in- 
tolerable in  its  intensity.  He  wanted  Ellice  him- 
self. Whether  the  words  "another  man's  wife" 
had  revealed  a  desire  long  existing  undiscovered 
within  him,  or  whether  they  constituted  the  fuse 
igniting  a  sudden  passion,  he  did  not  know.  He 
was  only  conscious  that  the  lucidness  of  the 
abrupt  discovery  left  him  gasping,  with  a  rigid 
smile  upon  his  lips,  whose  bitterness  seemed  fallen 
paralyzed  into  his  face.  No,  he  could  not  have 
loved  her  in  the  past;  the  value  of  his  fantastic 
reluctance  was  so  much  lying  balderdash.  De- 
liberately not  to  marry  the  woman  one  loved — 
the  thing  was  impossible.  He  had  admired,  been 
fascinated,  chained  year  after  year  by  an  aesthetic 
appreciation,  but  he  had  not  loved  her.  Now 
frantic,  insensate,  resistless  passion  swept  over 
him.  His  -whole  being  became  absorbed  in  one 
embittered  fury  and  desire.  He  stood  still  on  the 
pathway  and  felt  madness  lurk  near  to  him. 

With  an  immense  effort  he  forced  himself  to  re- 
turn to  the  house.  At  his  age  emotional  agonies 
were  imbecile.  But  from  the  beginning  the  Ellice 
episode  had  been  grotesque,  and  this  last  climax 
was  a  fitting  close  to  it.  He  emerged  from  the 
affair  ridiculous. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  99 

He  went  to  his  own  room,  and  tried  to  immerse 
himself  in  letters.  As  he  wrote,  the  phrase  "about 
to  be  a  wife"  perpetually  arose  between  him  and 
the  paper.  He  saw  it  clearly,  as  if  written  upon 
the  page  he  endeavored  to  cover.  Gradually  in- 
timate pictures  mastered  his  will  to  reject  them. 
He  could  not  keep  himself  from  looking  at  the 
visions  flung  into  him  by  imagination.  With  an 
evil-looking  smile  he  abandoned  himself  at  last. 
Like  a  concealed  witness,  his  mind  sneaked  into 
the  privacy  of  Ellice's  future  life,  and  in  its  vile 
intrusion  felt  as  if  dying  minute  by  minute,  with- 
out yet  possessing  the  strength  to  crawl  away 
from  the  scenes  that  murdered.  His  closed  hands 
lay  motionless  upon  the  writing-table.  With  his 
head  strained  forward,  he  gazed  at  the  panorama 
of  his  brain.  Then  brusquely,  without  prepara- 
tion, endurance  snapped.  Uttering  a  vague  sound 
like  an  inarticulate  curse,  he  dropped  his  head 
into  his  hands.  He  was  beaten;  agony  had 
proved  the  stronger  of  the  two. 


CHAPTER  X 

How  he  got  through  the  month  that  preceded 
his  -wedding  Spenser  could  never  afterward  re- 
alize. Certainly  a  kind  of  stupor  dulled  sensa- 
tion. For  several  days  following  upon  Ellice's 
letter  he  remained  at  Rook  House,  hour  after 
hour  endeavoring  to  rid  himself  of  the  insane  re- 
vulsion that  had  seized  him  toward  everything. 
On  the  following  Monday  the  workmen  entered 
the  house,  and  his  desire  to  eject  the  whole  lot 
was  so  strong  that  he  found  himself  compelled 
to  avoid  that  part  of  the  building  upon  which 
they  had  commenced  operations.  Once  or  twice 
he  decided  to  write  to  Gillette,  putting  an  end 
to  the  engagement,  and  then  to  start  that  same 
night  for  a  long  tour  abroad.  The  thought  of 
having  this  woman  always  at  his  side,  with  a 
right  to  break  into  any  silence  she  liked,  to  join 
him  at  any  moment  she  chose,  and  to  be  consid- 
ered in  every  plan  he  made,  froze  his  blood.  He 
was  prevented  by  recurring  periods  of  reaction 
when  the  excess  of  feeling  subsided,  and  he  could 
sneer  at  his  own  obsession.  At  these  times  he 
viewed  both  Gillette  and  his  marriage  with  an 
equal  indifference.  To  break  it  off  would  neces- 
sitate an  indefinite  number  of  disagreeable  scenes, 
and  would  give  the  poor  girl  also  a  devilish 
amount  of  pain.  A  quoi  bon?  His  ill-health 
would  always  be  an  easy  blind  to  excuse  his 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  101 

shortcomings  afterward ;  and  if  she  only  proved 
reasonable,  to  be  miserable  with  money  would 
be  at  least  preferable  to  being  miserable  without. 

Two  things,  however,  he  could  not  for  days 
bring  himself  to  do — answer  Ellice's  letter  or  see 
his  fiancee.  To  the  latter  he  sent  each  day  some 
fresh  excuse,  paltry  enough  for  the  most  part, 
each  time  hoping  that  by  the  following  day  he 
would  feel  fit  to  endure  her  society.  As  for  the 
customary  letter  of  congratulation  to  the  other, 
he  no  sooner  took  a  pen  into  his  hand  than  his 
brain  extended  with  the  rancor  that  rushed  into 
his  head.  For  no  reason  that  he  could  justify, 
he  was  pursued  at  this  period  with  a  desire  to 
abuse  and  vituperate  her,  to  pour  out  in  a  tor- 
rent of  words  the  bitterness  accumulated  since 
the  finality  of  her  letter.  After  four  days  of  this 
solitude — four  days  full  of  useless,  resentful  regret 
— there  came  a  letter  from  Gillette  that  helped 
to  pull  him  together  somewhat.  She  was  afraid 
he  concealed  an  attack  of  his  old  malarial  fever 
from  her,  and  proposed  coming  to  Rook  House 
for  the  day  with  her  mother. 

He  received  this  in  the  morning.  In  the  after- 
noon he  went  down  to  the  Riverside  House.  Be- 
fore starting  he  dosed  himself  with  a  strong  meas- 
ure of  bromide  of  potassium.  Without  it  he  felt 
his  nerves  unequal  to  the  strain.  Ellice  he  had 
still  not  written  to.  Gillette,  whom  he  had  fore- 
seen in  the  train  falling  demonstratively  into  his 
arms,  received  him,  to  his  unutterable  relief,  very 
quietly.  Almost  immediately,  however,  she  re- 
ferred to  the  other's  engagement.  They  had  no 


102  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

sooner  seated  themselves  by  the  edge  of  the  water 
than  she  asked  if  he  had  heard.  He  replied  that 
Miss  Bastien  had  written  and  communicated  the 
fact  to  him.  Instantly  Gillette  became  eager  to 
discuss  the  matter.  Mr.  Newngham  was  a  stran- 
ger to  her. 

"Is  he  the  right  man  for  Ellice?"  she  asked 
anxiously,  leaning  toward  him  in  her  absorption. 

"No,"  replied  Spenser  shortly,  gripped  by  a 
vision  of  his  rival,  whose  cheery  good  looks  were 
incontestable. 

Gillette  sank  back  against  her  seat  again,  sur- 
prised and  distressed. 

"No?  Oh,  George,  what  kind  of  man  is  he? 
Won't  he  be  good  to  her?  For  he  worships  El- 
lice  now.  Her  aunt  told  me  yesterday  he  has 
been  in  love  with  her  for  years.  And  they  seem 
so  happy  together,  like  two  children.  I  have 
never  seen  Ellice  so  excited.  What  makes  you 
think,  dear,  he  is  not  the  right  man?  Nobody 
could  look  kinder." 

"My  dear  little  girl,  why  do  you  wear  winter 
dresses  in  the  summer?  And  there  is  nothing  in 
this  world  more  hideous  than  a  coat  and  skirt. 
Femininity  should  be  the  first  essential  of  any 
woman' s  dressing." 

He  could  not  help  it.  His  nerves  refused  to 
deal  immediately  with  this  question  of  Ellice' s 
fiance,  and  an  attack  upon  his  companion's  cloth- 
ing eased  him  slightly.  She  really  made  herself 
so  unnecessarily  hideous  to  look  at.  At  least, 
in  the  future  she  must  be  taught  to  garb  herself 
decently.  And  Ellice  was  happy — in  love.  Had 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  103 

she  in  truth,  too,  suddenly  been  set  on  fire?  After 
his  own  abrupt  ignition  anything  was  oossible. 
Why  not  she  as  well  as  he?  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  such  an  accident  would  hardly  occur  twice. 
No,  if  she  loved,  it  was  an  old  affair,  and  the  girl 
was  nothing  more  than  a  charlatan — a  woman 
like  the  majority,  unable  to  exist  without  ad- 
mirers, without  intrigue,  without  a  dozen  secret 
flirtations. 

Gillette,  meanwhile,  had  reddened  to  the  brim 
of  her  large-brimmed  sailor  hat.  There  had  been 
something  brutal  in  his  manner,  and  she  felt 
wounded  and  ashamed,  without  knowing  clearly 
why  his  disapprobation  roused  so  much  pain  in 
her.  She  did  not  answer  immediately,  though 
for  one  moment  she  had  forgotten  Ellice.  Finally 
she  replied,  and  the  suspicion  of  checked  tears 
emanating  from  her  voice  angered  the  other 
afresh. 

"I  am  so  sorry  you  are  vexed  with  me.  I  will 
try  and  dress  better.  But  won't  you  love  me  as 
I  am?  Dear,  even  in  nice  clothes,  I  am  always — 
ugly." 

"Great  Scott!"  groaned  Spenser  inwardly, 
"what  a  pitiable  fool!" 

A  cowed  child  was  about  as  exciting  to  deal 
with.  However,  anything  to  avoid  the  Ellice 
subject.  With  an  extreme  mental  effort,  therefore, 
he  resumed  a  tender  manner,  and  propounded  his 
views  as  to  the  manner  of  dress  pleasing  to  him 
in  his  wife.  Above  all,  she  was  in  the  future  to 
wear  her  hair  waved,  and  dressed  widely  round 
the  face.  If  she  must  retain  the  plain  coil  at  the 


104  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

back,  she  might  at  least,  surely,  without  twinge 
of  conscience,  satisfy  her  husband  by  a  softer 
treatment  of  the  forehead. 

Gillette  listened  with  perturbed  eyes.  A  name- 
less fear  agitated  her.  Was  this  the  first  faltering 
step  in  spiritual  denials?  Conflicting  theories 
fought  within  her.  Did  the  words  "submissive 
in  all  things  to  one's  husband"  include  submis- 
sion in  a  trivial  alteration  of  this  kind?  She 
could  not  decide  hastily;  and  when  Spenser  had 
finished  enumerating  the  more  important  of  his 
wishes,  they  lapsed  into  silence. 

Gillette  broke  it  finally  by  a  return  to  the  sub- 
ject of  Ellice.  Once  more  she  reiterated  her  ques- 
tion as  to  his  reasons  for  believing  the  newly 
engaged  couple  to  be  ill-suited. 

This  time  he  was  prepared.  Sooner  or  later 
she  would  naturally  return  to  the  old  query.  He 
had  laid  himself  open  to  it  by  his  own  idiotic 
want  of  control. 

" Little  woman,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  simply 
said  'No'  without  thinking  of  the  subject  at  all. 
My  mind  was  occupied  in  planning  out  just  the 
right  dinner-gown  for  you  this  winter.  Your 
sudden  question  irritated  by  rudely  breaking  up 
one's  thoughts  of  the  future.  I  said  'No'  purely 
haphazard  to  be  rid  of  the  trouble  of  going  into 
the  subject.  There,  now  you  know  the  bad-tem- 
pered, crotchety  husband  waiting  for  you,  little 
one." 

She  believed  him,  of  course.  It  was  a  nature 
too  honest  itself  ever  to  suspect  the  veracity  of 
another.  No  one,  indeed,  saw  more  good  in  hu- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  105 

inanity  than  Gillette.  Overwhelming  evidence  was 
necessary  before  her  mind  could  grasp  the  possi- 
bility of  any  character  not  having  noble  and 
upright  intentions.  To  fail  through  temporary 
weakness  was  the  only  cause  of  sin  the  girl  gen- 
uinely comprehended. 

After  Spenser's  explanation  calm  and  peace  more 
or  less  returned  to  her.  And  Ellice  was  happy, 
Gillette  never  for  an  instant  doubting  this  to  be 
the  close  of  the  other's  long,  secret  love  affair. 
To  both  happiness  had  graciously  come  at  the 
same  time.  For  in  her  own  engagement  she  had 
only  one  wish — to  give.  If  she  could  render  her 
lover  happy,  her  whole  desire  proved  satisfied. 

During  the  interval  preceding  their  wedding- 
day,  however,  she  saw  little  of  him,  though  of 
Ellice,  happily,  a  good  deal.  Since  the  engage- 
ment of  the  latter  the  old  closeness  of  their  in- 
timacy re-established  itself  without  a  word.  It 
was  to  Ellice  Gillette  confided  her  difficulties  as 
regards  dress.  And  it  was  the  latter  who  se- 
lected the  quite  charming,  though  quite  unosten- 
tatious, trousseau.  Of  Ellice' s  happiness  at  this 
time  Gillette  felt  no  doubt.  Never  had  she  been 
so  excited,  so  gay,  so  full  of  tender  laughter. 

As  the  day  drew  near,  and  Gillette's  confidence 
sank  to  the  undefined  trouble  of  the  approach- 
ing bride,  Ellice  remained  always  with  her.  The 
night  before  the  wedding-day  they  cried  them- 
selves to  sleep  in  each  other's  arms.  It  was  El- 
lice, moreover,  who  dressed  the  bride  next  morn- 
ing. She  was  the  last  to  kiss  the  agitated  girl 
before  the  veil  fell  finally  over  her  face,  and  this 


106  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  had  risen  in  the  morn- 
ing with  such  an  overpowering  headache  that 
attendance  at  the  ceremony  became  out  of  the 
question.  Indeed,  Gillette  never  remembered  see- 
ing her  look  so  ill  during  all  the  years  of  their 
friendship.  But  the  explanation  was  easy  enough 
to  find :  Ellice,  with  her  great  big  heart,  had 
worked  herself  to  death  that  she,  Gillette,  might 
be  fresh  upon  her  wedding  morning.  All  the  day 
before,  and  until  late  in  the  evening,  she  and  the 
tall,  kindly  Maxime  had  been  busy  with  arrange- 
ments. Though  it  filled  her  with  self-reproach 
and  sorrow,  Gillette,  therefore,  felt  little  surprise 
at  this  reaction,  while,  even  as  it  was,  though 
barely  able  to  keep  upon  her  feet,  Ellice  refused 
to  allow  any  one  else  to  handle  the  delicate  white 
array  that  was  to  be  the  last  robing  of  Gillette's 
girlhood. 

Mrs.  Sinclair,  purposely  ready  early,  was,  how- 
ever, also  present  during  this  dressing,  and,  a 
little  hysterical  at  her  daughter's  expressive  white- 
ness, she  filled  the  time  with  anxious  exhortations, 
stricken  at  the  last  moment  with  penetrating 
dread,  like  a  wet  atmosphere  entering  into  the  lungs. 

"My  dearie,  remember  you  can't  make  men 
angels,  won't  you?"  she  repeated  over  and  over 
again,  snuffling  slightly  with  her  nose  in  an  im- 
mense bouquet  of  mauve  orchids.  "Oh,  Gee-Gee 
dear,  I  do  hope  you  will  be  happy,  and  that 
you  won't  ask  too  much.  You  see,  child,  men 
must  be  human,  and  if  you'll  only  let  'em  be  that, 
they'll  like  you  well  enough  in  their  own  fashion." 

Ellice  meanwhile  was  silently  flinging  the  great 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  107 

tremulous-looking  veil  over  the  other's  head, 
while  Gillette  stood  with  slow  tears  glittering 
upon  her  lowered  eyelashes.  They  scarcely  heard, 
these  two,  the  anxious  statements  of  the  elder 
woman,  rustling  her  palma  silk  gown  restlessly 
about  Gillette's  bedroom.  Timid  hope  and  fear 
lay  twined  together  in  the  coming  bride's  breast 
— hope  that  came  uncontrollably  for  a  fulness  of 
joy  impossible  in  the  single  life  of  girlhood,  and 
fear  lest  she  might  fail  in  bringing  happiness.  It 
was  a  moment  of  deep  solemnity,  and,  while  the 
other  softly  arranged  the  shimmering  net  that 
covered  her,  Gillette  prayed  that  this  approach- 
ing service  might  indeed  be  the  symbol  and  begin- 
ning of  a  new  life,  white  as  the  robe  and  flowers 
they  swathed  her  in  for  its  commencement. 

Only  Ellice  of  them  all  that  morning  seemed 
close  to  her.  As  the  other  silently  brought  her, 
one  after  the  other,  the  clothes  she  was  to  dress 
herself  in,  she  felt  as  if  their  unity  had  never  been 
so  great.  Ellice  seemed  unable  to  speak,  but  Gil- 
lette was  conscious  that  each  silent  service  over- 
flowed with  burning  tenderness.  When  at  last 
Gillette  stood  ready  to  go  down,  the  almost 
blue-colored  lips  smiled  at  her  with  an  attempt 
at  their  old  gayety. 

"I  have  never  seen  you  look  so  well,  sweet," 
she  said.  "Your  hair  worn  like  this  makes  you 
look  charming." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  then  kissed  her  daughter,  tears  of 
genuine  regret  at  their  approaching  separation 
dropping  upon  the  abundant  rouge. 

"Oh,   I  do  hope  you  will  be  happy,"    she    re- 


108  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

peated  again,  futile  terrors  for  the  future  still 
assailing  her.  "Don't  be  too  particular,  there's 
a  dear  girl.  Oh,  child,  believe  me" — and  she  turned 
involuntarily  to  Ellice  as  the  one  most  likely  to 
grasp  her  meaning — "if  you  want  to  keep  the 
average  man  you  must  make  him  feel  able  to  be 
at  his  worst  with  you.  Let  'im  realize  that  he 
can  just  be  'imself— what  the  French  call  sans 
gene — and  then,  if  you  make  much  of  him  and 
keep  your  temper,  he'll  just  dote  on  you.  It's 
the  women  men  have  to  keep  shamming  to  that 
they  get  tired  of.  It's  no  good:  you've  got  to 
be  a  man's  mistress  and  his  wife  in  one  if  you 
don't  want  'im  to  find  the  bargain  thin." 

Gillette  had  turned,  and  was  taking  a  silent 
farewell  of  the  room  that  held  so  many  solemn 
memories  of  her  girlhood.  Ellice,  out  of  whose 
face  the  living  expression  appeared  to  ooze  min- 
ute by  minute,  stood  holding  on  to  the  foot  of 
Gillette's  bedstead.  Mrs.  Sinclair  glanced  wistfully 
at  her  daughter.  Then,  wiping  the  tears  moisten- 
ing her  cheeks,  she  added,  apparently  to  Ellice : 

"My  dear,  the  average  man  is  no  saint.  Don't 
ask  him  to  be;  that's  the  way  to  have  power. 
Then,  if  you  can't  be  amusing,  at  least  be  cheery ; 
pretend  to  like  what  he  wants  you  to  like,  and 
there  you  are.  It  isn't  a  very  nice  kind  of  plan, 
perhaps ;  but,  then,  since  a  woman  can't  do  with- 
out a  man,  take  my  advice  and  put  yourself  to 
a  little  trouble  to  keep  the  one  you've  chosen. 
Both  mine  adored  me;  but,  my  goodie,  what  a 
strain!  You  see,  it  was  a  case  of  letting  them 
always  be  in  carpet  slippers,  and  me,  in  a  manner 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  109 

of  speaking,  of  course,  in  full  dress.  Well,  well, 
I  had  the  vitality,  and  liked  being  made  love  to. 
But,  now,  this  marriage — well,  it  seems  to  have 
made  a  grannie  of  me  already.  Gillette,  do  you 
know,  your  mother  thinks  of  letting  herself  get 
old,  and  sitting  by  the  fire  for  the  rest  of  her 
days  with  a  love-sick  novel." 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 
Ellice  went  to  see  what  it  signified. 

"Dear,"  she  said,  "the  carriage  is  at  the  door. 
They  are  waiting  for  you  to  start." 

The  two  girls  clung  to  each  other's  hands  for 
a  minute ;  then  Gillette  slowly  followed  her  mother 
down  the  passage. 

Ellice,  from  the  window,  watched  the  carriage 
drive  out  of  the  gates.  When  it  had  gone  she 
turned  back  into  the  room,  and  suddenly  burst 
into  a  peal  of  laughter.  It  had  the  sound  of  mad- 
ness, so  complete  was  its  uncontrol,  so  insup- 
portable its  anguish.  The  jangling  of  furiously 
rung  bells  could  not  have  equalled  its  discordant 
wildness.  Suddenly  it  ceased.  With  the  helpless 
gestures  of  a  blind  person,  the  girl  flung  herself 
upon  the  bed.  She  had  laughed,  but  she  had 
not  wept.  The  outburst  that  saved  the  brain 
congesting  was  over,  and  her  eyes  were  dry.  A 
bitter  smile  travelled  across  her  lips. 

"No,  you  never  caused  me  a  tear,  George,"  she 
said  silently.  "Your  conscience  must  be  very 
easy.  Why,  you  can  say,  with  truth,  you  never 
brought  a  tear  into  my  eyes.  Truly,  you  have 
something  to  be  proud  of.  Men  are  so  apt,  they 
say,  to  make  those  that  love  them  weep  for  it." 


CHAPTER  XI 

The  first  four  weeks  of  his  married  life  Spenser 
found,  on  the  whole,  to  be  less  unpleasant  than 
he  had  expected.  They  travelled  incessantly,  first 
in  Switzerland  and  then  in  the  Tyrol,  the  con- 
stant activity  pacifying  the  restlessness  that  pos- 
sessed him.  Whenever  he  succumbed  to  a  dull 
antipathy  to  Gillette,  he  proposed  another  move, 
and  in  the  change  of  scene  and  reorganizing  of 
arrangements  shook  off  the  obsession. 

Very  frequently,  moreover,  he  found  himself 
agreeably  surprised  in  her.  She  received  impres- 
sions with  astounding  avidity,  and  entered  so 
heartily  into  the  pleasure  of  every  expedition 
that  once  or  twice  Spenser  felt  almost  attracted. 
Her  religious  scruples  occasionally  annoyed  him, 
but  her  vegetarianism  proved  less  trouble  than  he 
had  anticipated.  Under  difficulties  she  remained 
cheery,  composed,  enduring.  Moreover,  when 
once  at  home  with  him,  she  proved  by  no  means 
destitute  of  common  sense.  She  had,  even,  now 
and  then  an  underlying  humor  that  charmed  him 
against  his  will. 

Later  on  he  foresaw  antagonism  would  be  in- 
evitable. What  he  could  bear  for  a  short  period 
would  be  insufferable  for  perpetuity — her  appear- 
ance, her  tendency  to  halt  between  her  words, 
her  inflexible  conscience,  her  habit  of  sitting  like 
a  fat  old  woman.  But  at  the  present  she  was  un- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  111 

doubtedly  happy,  and  the  fact  touched  him.  If, 
inevitably,  he  must  make  her  suffer  later  on,  at 
least  she  should  have  this  little  interlude  if  he 
could  give  it  to  her.  And  -with  a  semi-paternal 
feeling  he  paid  her  the  trivial  attentions  she  treas- 
ured so  greatly,  especially — if  there  were  flowers 
to  be  had — keeping  her  rooms  embowered  in  great 
market  bouquets  of  them. 

In  actual  caresses  he  could  not  force  himself  to 
be  equally  generous,  but  Gillette  was  both  too 
unversed  in  the  ways  of  lovers  and  too  humble 
to  realize  deprivation.  She  was  very  grateful  to 
him  during  the  days  of  their  honeymoon,  and 
happy — only  not  so  happy  as  her  husband  sup- 
posed. Day  by  day  she  grew  more  certain  that 
she  was  no  companion  to  this  man.  They  had 
plenty  to  talk  of  at  present,  the  places  they  saw, 
for  instance,  the  people  they  met,  the  episodes  of 
their  journey.  But  he  never  thought  aloud  with 
her;  she  felt  drearily  he  could  not.  Indeed,  once 
already  he  had  confessed  that  there  was  no  subject 
worth  discussing  with  her,  since  all  intellectual 
speculation  was  closed  by  impossible  dogmas, 
Practically,  she  did  no  thinking  for  herself. 

The  last  statement  was,  however,  very  far  from 
true.  Gillette's  brain  was  anything  but  atrophied 
by  disuse;  and  before  a  month  had  passed  since 
their  marriage,  though  she  still  relied  upon  the 
sincerity  of  his  affection,  she  knew  herself  to  have 
been  in  some  things  deliberately  deceived  by  him. 
For  almost  without  reflection  Spenser  rapidly 
dropped  the  minor  deceptions  of  primary  days. 
The  strain  of  keeping  up  the  main  force  of  ten- 


112  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

derness  he  felt  as  much  as  he  could  accomplish. 
He  ceased  to  pretend  any  interest,  therefore,  in 
the  scheme  of  Gillette's  life — a  country  home  for 
poor  children.  Also  he  ceased  to  hoax  upon  the 
fascination  supposed  to  have  been  exercised  by 
her  goodness.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  first  deception 
he  hastened  to  disburden  himself  of.  They  had 
been  away  three  weeks,  when  he  exclaimed  one 
morning : 

"My  dear  little  girl,  no  religious  talk,  I  beg. 
If  you  want  me  to  continue  your  lover,  don't 
keep  basting  me  with  sanctimonious  phrases. 
You  will  kill  me  if  you  do." 

Into  her  eyes  instantly  had  risen  an  anguished 
protest  against  his  past  deceit.  She  could  not 
find  explanatory  words,  however,  and  Gillette's 
facial  expressions  rarely  appealed  to  her  husband. 
Fortunately  he  felt  that,  having  now  made  clear 
what  was  necessary,  a  tranquillizing  statement 
would  be  only  politic  as  conclusion.  They  were 
having  their  petit  dejeuner  at  the  time  in  Gil- 
lette's bedroom,  and  the  tears  swimming  across 
the  girl's  eyes  threatened  to  herald  more.  He 
broke  a  piece  of  his  roll  and  flung  it  gently  at 
her. 

"Gillette — Gillette — she  was  so  hard  to  win, 
and  I  wanted  her  so  much.  It  was  very  wicked, 
of  course ;  but,  then,  a  little  lady  I  know  would 
have  listened  to  nothing  else.  And  now  Gillette 
is  the  dear  but  tearful  little  wife  who  has  made 
a  sick  man  whole,  or  will  if  she  does  not  cry, 
and  if  she  will  only  ask  God  to  make  him  good, 
instead  of  asking  him  direct.  It  is,  after  all,  the 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  113 

safest  way  to  go  to  headquarters.  Besides,  ex- 
ample is  better  than  precept.  Be  my  example, 
Gillette,  but,  for  pity's  sake,  do  not  be  my  chap- 
lain." 

The  tearful  example  had  risen  from  table  be- 
fore the  end  of  his  speech.  Her  prominent  idea 
at  the  moment  was  to  suppress  her  tears,  in 
order  to  avoid  annoying  him.  But  she  felt  as  if 
the  crumb  flicked  at  her  fell  heavily  as  a  stone 
upon  her  chest.  The  room  had  striped,  claret- 
colored  red  paper,  and  its  dark  surface  became 
suddenly  oppressive.  She  went  to  the  window  to 
fling  open  the  green  shutters,  still  closed  from 
the  night.  As  she  made  a  movement  to  push 
them  apart,  however,  Spenser  came  behind,  and, 
putting  his  arms  round  her  full  bust,  rubbed  his 
head  caressingly  against  hers.  The  action,  so 
intimate  and  so  new  in  character  to  her,  mud- 
dled reflection.  It  was  very  sweet  to  be  cajoled 
in  such  a  fashion,  and  if  he  loved  her  the  motive 
of  their  marriage  still  continued  valid.  She  re- 
mained essential  for  his  happiness,  and  for  his 
soul,  in  truth,  he  was  right.  God  answered  im- 
portunate prayer — the  prayer  that  is  as  drops 
of  the  suppliant's  life-blood  in  its  intensity.  And 
more  than  ever  she  must  labor  to  be  better, 
nobler  in  action,  more  spiritual  in  desire,  more 
truly  a  giver-out  of  sweetness  and  peace. 

She  made  no  scene,  therefore,  smiled  at  him, 
and  returned  to  her  coffee  and  rolls  at  the  little 
round  table  near  the  bed.  But  some  of  the  magic 
illusion  had  been  brushed  from  her  marriage.  Un- 
easy doubt  tore  little  rents  in  the  smooth  sur- 
8 


114  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

face  of  her  trust.  The  man  she  loved  had  lied  to 
her.  To  forgive  was  easy,  but  the  fact  remained 
like  a  floating  spot  of  grease  upon  pure  water. 

From  Ellice,  meanwhile,  she  had  heard  nothing. 
Several  poste-restante  addresses  had  been  given 
to  her,  but  Spenser's  frequently  accelerated  jour- 
neyings  caused  them  again  and  again  to  miss 
their  correspondence.  Before  starting  homeward, 
therefore,  Gillette  wrote,  explaining  that  no  letter 
had  been  received,  and  begging  for  a  little  note 
of  welcome  to  await  them  on  the  return  to  Rook 
House.  She  inquired  also  the  date  of  the  coming 
wedding.  Maxime  had  told  her  privately,  the 
day  before  her  own,  that,  like  George,  he  should 
find  a  month  as  much  as  he  could  bear. 

Of  Ellice  to  her  husband  she  spoke  less  than 
she  desired.  He  liked  Miss  Bastien,  apparently, 
but  with  the  indifference  of  a  person  to  whom 
women  are  of  no  real  interest.  He  had  not  the 
least  objection  to  the  girl,  but  conversation  about 
her  bored  him. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  all  talk  of  Ellice  from  his 
wife  flagellated  his  nerves.  He  detested  to  hear 
even  her  name  upon  the  lips  of  this  other  woman. 
She  said  the  word  glibly,  familiarly,  and  every 
time  he  felt  it  as  the  same  outrageous  liberty. 
Ellice  was  like  a  scar  hidden,  smothered  under 
many  thicknesses  within  his  breast.  Her  mere 
name  dragged  promiscuously  into  conversation 
affected  him  like  an  exposure  of  private  memories. 
He  had  sense  enough,  however,  to  avoid  any  dis- 
play of  active  dislike,  striving  for  a  manner  tem- 
perately indifferent,  in  the  hope  that  later  on  the 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  115 

coolness  simulated  might  come  to  be  a  pleasant 
reality.  Ellice,  as  a  fetntne  marine,  he  intended 
not  to  know  at  all  if  possible.  She  was  in  love ; 
she  did  not  concern  him,  therefore.  When  Gil- 
lette invited  the  two  down  on  a  visit,  it  should 
be  during  his  many  absences  abroad. 

They  arrived  at  Rook  House  in  the  evening. 
In  the  hall  a  huge  fire  had  been  lit,  and  while 
they  stood  warming  themselves  by  it,  the  foot- 
man, engaged  by  Mrs.  Sinclair  for  them  in  their 
absence,  handed  Spenser  a  pile  of  letters  and  cir- 
culars. 

"May  I  take  mine  from  them?"  Gillette  asked, 
putting  a  hand  out  toward  the  bundle  of  enve- 
lopes he  held. 

"Come  in,  then,  and  read  them,"  qnswered  the 
other,  taking  her  affectionately  enough  by  the 
arm  toward  the  open  door  of  the  library. 

A  big  fire  played  over  the  furniture  there  also. 
Gillette,  cold  from  the  journey,  sank  on  to  the 
rug,  and,  with  her  legs  drawn  up  under  her,  read 
the  letters  Spenser  had  flung  into  her  lap.  Sitting 
in  the  arm-chair  behind  her,  he  heard  the  excla- 
mation, "Ah,  Ellice! "at one, and  hoped,  though  he 
felt  it  absurd,  that  she  would  refrain  from  open- 
ing the  letter  until  he  was  well  immersed  in  his 
own  correspondence. 

He  received  nothing  interesting,  however,  and 
was  perfectly  aware  when  Gillette  came  to  the 
envelope  bearing  Ellice's  handwriting.  As  he 
opened  a  packet  containing  the  circular  of  a 
seedsman  he  occasionally  dealt  with,  moreover, 
an  incoherent  exclamation  from  the  figure  on  the 


116  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

rug  finally  arrested  his  attention.  Gillette's  face 
had  grown  crimson,  and  her  lips  moved  nervously 
as  she  read.  An  indefinite  excitement,  like  a  cur- 
rent issuing  from  her  person,  passed  into  Spenser. 
To  ask  what  was  the  matter  he  felt  impossible. 
At  the  same  time,  his  desire  to  be  told  had  grown 
already  intense. 

"Oh,  George!"  exclaimed  Gillette  suddenly,  look- 
ing up  at  him  through  a  haze  of  tears. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter?  Why,  you  look  like 
a  peony!" 

The  abrupt  irritability  of  his  manner  astonished 
Gillette,  and,  before  replying,  she  gazed  at  him 
with  an  involuntary  stare  of  surprise.  He  gave 
the  impression  of  suppressing  with  difficulty  an 
extreme,  agitated  excitement.  Had  he,  too,  re- 
ceived bad  news? 

"Oh,  George,"  she  repeated,  "my  friend  Ellice! 
I  have  such  bad  news!" 

"You  idiot!"  silently  ejaculated  the  man.  He 
was  suffocating  with  curiosity,  and  she  kept  him 
in  suspense  with  the  persistence  of  deliberate 
malice.  "Well,  is  she  ill?  What  has  happened?" 

"She  has  broken  off  her  engagement." 

Gillette  added  something  else  which  he  did  not 
hear.  Intelligence  had  rushed  headlong  to  seize 
and  grasp  the  whole  meaning  of  this  one  preg- 
nant sentence — Ellice  was  not  to  be  married.  He 
felt  the  blood  leave  his  body  and  boil  in  his  head. 
The  fire  spread  in  an  indefinite  blur  of  red  over 
the  entire  fireplace;  the  marble  became  incan- 
descent. He  experienced  a  sense  of  being  in  too 
small  a  place,  and  yet  of  being  unable  to  make 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  117 

a  movement  to  get  out  of  it.  Ellice  was  not 
going  to  be  any  man's  wife!  Waves  of  heat  com- 
pressed his  brain,  but  suddenly  with  a  frantic 
leap  it  seemed  to  emerge  from  them,  and  he  un- 
derstood and  felt  both.  Good  heavens!  how  he 
had  been  tricked  and  fooled  by  Destiny,  or  by 
his  own  asinine  obtuseness!  Until  this  woman 
had  been  no  longer  free  he  had  not  desired  her. 
Now,  too  late — had  he  known  this  evening's  news 
one  day  before  his  wedding,  nothing  on  earth 
would  have  induced  him  to  proceed  with  it — she 
had  freed  herself  once  more.  But  for  Gillette  he 
would  possess  her  at  last,  glory  in  her  as  his 
wife,  live  only  for  and  through  her. 

"George,  you  look  so  strange — you  have  had 
bad  news?  Oh,  and  I  bother  you  with  mine! 
Forgive  me,  dear." 

Gillette  rose  from  her  knees  and  laid  her  head 
gently  against  his  shoulder.  He  felt  physical 
nausea,  but  left  her  there.  Even  a  repulse  would 
cost  more  effort  than  he  had  will  to  make. 

The  dressing-gong  sounded  at  that  moment. 
Spenser  reached  forward  to  try  and  touch  the 
bell-rope  hanging  by  the  fireplace.  Instantly  Gil- 
lette rushed  and  did  it  for  him. 

"What  is  it  you  want,  dear?"  she  asked,  filled 
with  alarm. 

So  unusual  did  he  look,  the  satisfaction  of  her 
home-coming  died  in  a  sense  of  dual  troubles — 
EUice's  letter  and  her  husband's  sudden,  extraor- 
dinary behavior.  A  footman  answered  the  bell. 

"Bring  me  a  brandy-and-soda  at  once,"  ordered 
Spenser  curtly. 


118  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

He  was  a  man  of  extremely  temperate  habits, 
but  by  instinct  more  than  by  deliberate  reflec- 
tion he  felt  that  no  precaution  would  be  too  great 
now  that  concealed  any  effect  caused  in  him  by 
the  Ellice  subject.  A  strong  dose  of  brandy  would 
pull  his  nerves  together,  and  give  him  back  the 
perspicacity  to  humbug  the  fussy  creature  staring 
at  him  from  the  hearth-rug  with  as  much  pitying 
alarm  as  if  he  had  suddenly  been  seized  with  a 
fit  of  apoplexy.  Moreover,  by  some  strategic 
means  he  must  contrive  to  see  all  that  Ellice  had 
written.  He  knew  it  imperative  that  he  should 
know  what  motives  she  gave.  It  seemed  strange 
to  realize  how  little  she  understood  what  a  \vreck 
she  had  made  of  his  life.  Or  did  she  know?  Was 
there  a  devil  hidden  behind  that  smiling,  childish 
face,  with  its  eager  upturned  pose,  as  if  alwaj^s 
half  expectant,  always  half  attentive  to  some- 
thing whispered  unseen  into  her  ear?  Oh,  that 
hair,  too,  swept  back  off  the  low  forehead!  it 
gave  the  impression  of  a  hand  just  passed  over 
it  in  order  better  to  see  the  white  brow  and  the 
blue  veins  upon  the  temples.  An  occasional  look 
in  her  eyes  recurred  to  him  at  that  moment.  It 
was  not  the  careless,  joyous  expression  normal 
to  her.  The  head  would  be  upturned,  the  mouth 
exquisite,  sweet,  impossible  to  keep  away  from. 
But  the  eyes,  half  closed,  would  be  turned  a  little 
sideways,  and  be  as  if  dwelling  upon  some  secret 
knowledge,  weighing  it,  and  taking  account  of 
its  nature.  What  did  she  think  of,  when  she 
looked  like  that? 

He  had   often  wondered,   and  now,   as  he  sat 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  119 

waiting  for  the  man  to  return  with  his  order, 
the  recollection  pierced  him  with  doubts.  She 
was  capable  of  any  callous  scheme  of  conduct. 
There  could  not  be  so  much  guarded  in  any  wom- 
an's eyes,  unless  she  thought  much,  reserved  much, 
concealed  much. 

The  brandy  and  a  siphon  of  seltzer  were  brought 
and  put  on  a  carved  table  at  Spenser's  side.  Gil- 
lette had  hastily  taken  off  her  hat  and  veil,  and, 
with  Ellice's  letter  in  one  hand  and  her  felt  travel- 
ling hat  in  the  other,  anxiously  watched  her  hus- 
band. He  drank  first;  then  he  made  a  careless 
movement  toward  the  letter. 

"So  Ellice  Bastien  has  broken  off  her  engage- 
ment, has  she?  What  the  devil — forgive  me,  my 
dear,  a  mere  lapsus  linguae — has  she  done  that 
for?" 

Gillette  glanced  miserably  at  a  sentence  of  the 
letter. 

"I  cannot  understand.  She  seemed  so  happy; 
and  I  know — at  least,  I  think — she  has  cared  for 
him  for  a  very  long  while.  And  she  writes  that 
she  is  greatly  troubled,  but  as  the  time  drew  near 
for  the  wedding  she  realized  a  great  mistake  had 
been  made :  she  did  not  love  enough  for  marriage. 
It  is  quite  over:  he  is  gone  back  to  his  regiment 
at  Cairo.  And  now  she  seems  so  sad." 

"My  dear  girl,  don't  begin  to  cry;  it's  simple 
idiocy  to  do  that.  Miss  Bastien  is  not  dead. 
There  is,  therefore,  no  need  to  flood  the  house 
with  tears  by  way  of  entry  into  it.  And,  really, 
I  cannot  see  the  great  tragedy  in  a  broken  en- 
gagement, when  it  is  the  lady  who  has  grown 


120  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

averse  to  marriage.  There,  there,  silly  child!  let 
her  husband  dry  her  eyes  for  her." 

When  he  had  hastily  wiped  her  moist  cheeks 
-with  his  handkerchief,  he  took  another  gulp  of 
the  drink  by  his  side.  Obviously,  she  did  not  in- 
tend to  show  him  the  letter,  and  a  curiosity,  pain- 
ful, dominating,  disproportionate,  took  possession 
of  him.  He  wanted  to  see  how  Ellice  wrote  to 
other  people,  how  she  revealed  herself  to  them, 
and  what,  above  all,  she  had  communicated  upon 
this  pitiable  subject.  He  wondered  if  Gillette 
could  be  tricked  into  leaving  the  letter  behind 
while  she  went  to  dress.  Jealousy  over  her  pos- 
session of  it  devoured  him,  while  along  with  his 
ideas  of  how  best  to  get  the  thing  from  her, 
buzzed  in  his  brain  a  confused  sense  of  having 
in  a  few  minutes  been  made  bitter  to  the  mar- 
row of  his  bones — bitter  and  disquieted.  Ellice 
married,  himself  married — well,  it  had  been  a 
definite  misery,  invariable  in  its  nature,  and  there- 
fore gradually  a  thing  likely  to  become  uncon- 
scious. Ellice  unmarried — genuinely  the  thought 
terrified  him,  so  uncontrollable  was  the  mad  sug- 
gestion it  sent  red-hot  through  his  system,  the 
evil  possibilities  it  shot  like  tongues  of  flame  into 
his  brain.  Ellice  free — no,  any  vile  action  as  re- 
gards her  would  be  too  ghastly.  He  got  up  to 
shake  himself  loose  from  the  ruminations  that 
assailed  him,  and  leaned  against  the  marble  man- 
telpiece. The  movement  appeared  to  cool  his 
head.  All  sinister  temptations  left  him. 

"My  dear,  we  shall  be  late  for  dinner.  Let  us 
go  and  dress." 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  121 

He  felt  that  everything  was  altered;  nothing 
•wore  the  aspect  it  has  when  they  entered  the 
house  less  than  an  hour  ago.  Intense  excitement 
decimated  boredom,  an  excitement,  however,  un- 
healthy, devouring,  impossible  to  endure  indefi- 
nitely. Toward  Gillette,  nevertheless,  to  his  sur- 
prise, he  experienced  no  change  of  feeling.  That 
he  had  not  been  seized  by  a  dangerous  repulsion 
astonished  him;  for  it  was  only  she  who  now 
stood  between  him  and  the  flower  of  his  life. 
But  justice  on  this  one  subject  remained  so  far 
curiously  unimpaired.  He  told  himself  she  was  a 
good  creature,  the  greatest  puppet  of  them  all, 
perhaps,  in  the  present  sorry  mess  made  by  Des- 
tiny. He  even  helped  her  up  the  stairs  by  an 
arm  placed  round  her  waist.  As  he  mounted  in- 
telligence cleared  second  by  second.  Ellice's  letter 
had  rendered  the  future — an  hour  ago  quite  ob- 
vious— potential  with  power  to  bring  forth  any- 
thing. Indefinite  anticipation  floated  in  the  at- 
mosphere. Suddenly  the  entire  surface  of  his  flesh 
tingled  and  grew  conscious.  Ellice  now  would 
come  and  stay  with  them. 

He  formulated  nothing  now,  merely  aware  that 
an  object  had  been  restored  to  his  existence.  He 
left  Gillette  at  her  bedroom  door. 

"I  sha'n't  be  long,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  of 
more  than  ordinary  gentleness. 

He  remembered  then  that  he  would  have  to 
talk  to  her  at  dinner,  and  bear  in  mind  besides 
that  it  was  her  first  meal  there,  her  bride's  din- 
ner, as  it  were.  The  statement  of  that  fact  shone 
in  her  face  and  expression. 


122  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

He  wondered  if  he  could  do  it,  pretending  en- 
grossment and  paying  the  delicate  flattering  at- 
tentions he  knew  so  novel  and  so  bewitching  to 
her.  For  an  hour  or  so,  yes.  Then  he  must  be 
alone  with  thoughts  of  Ellice. 


CHAPTER  XII 

From  that  evening  the  miseries  he  had  previ- 
ously foreseen  for  Gillette  commenced.  Each  day 
after  the  arrival  of  Ellice's  letter  Spenser  proved 
more  and  more  unsatisfactory  as  a  husband.  He 
•was  possessed  by  one  idea — to  have  Ellice  down 
to  Rook  House  and  learn  absolutely  the  state 
of  her  feelings.  But  he  was  also  filled  with  an 
exaggerated  sense  of  the  necessity  for  caution. 
For  Gillette  to  suspect  any  previous  intimacy 
between  this  other  woman  and  himself  would 
be,  he  felt,  on  the  least  provocation  to  arouse 
in  her  ideas  of  the  utmost  danger  to  his  future 
friendship  with  Ellice.  He  had  at  first  decided 
to  write  to  the  latter  himself  upon  the  subject 
of  her  broken  engagement.  In  the  middle  of 
writing  the  letter  he  tore  it  up.  She  had  not 
chosen  to  communicate  the  fact  to  him  person- 
ally. Was  that  circumstance,  therefore,  intended 
as  a  sign  that  she  considered  all  familiarity  at 
an  end  between  them  from  the  time  of  his  mar- 
riage to  Gillette?  If  so,  she  was  capable  of  an- 
swering him  by  message  in  a  letter  to  Gillette 
herself.  She  was  capable  of  so  much,  besides 
possessing  very  stringent  notions  of  what  con- 
stituted loyalty  to  her  friend. 

As  regards  this  latter  question,  he  had  already 
formed  a  theory  admirable  in  its  simplicity.  The 


124  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

person  most  loved  was  the  person  whose  claim 
should  be  paramount.  Ellice  must  first  be  made 
to  understand  that  he  was  the  individual  dear- 
est to  her  on  earth.  And  then,  this  fact  being 
acknowledged,  that  it  remained  her  woman's 
duty  to  sacrifice  everything,  everybody,  herself 
included,  for  the  happiness  of  the  beloved.  Of 
his  capacity  amply  to  compensate  her  he  did  not 
feel  a  doubt. 

Having  concluded,  however,  not  to  write,  an 
immediate  visit  from  her  became  doubly  impera- 
tive. His  one  difficulty  became,  how  to  propose 
naturally  that  Ellice  should  be  asked  to  pay  them 
a  visit.  The  thing  seemed  easy  enough  to  do. 
Nevertheless,  he  found  himself  perpetually  phras- 
ing the  suggestion  in  silence,  utterly  unable  to 
say  it  out  loud.  It  appeared  to  him  that  the 
ghastly  nature  of  the  unnecessary  barrier  now 
separating  himself  and  Ellice  had  given  birth  to 
an  incomprehensible  sentimentality  as  regards 
everything  to  do  with  the  one  real  love-affair  of 
his  life.  It  hampered  him  by  a  reluctance  even 
to  utter  the  girl's  name  in  the  presence  of  Gil- 
lette. 

Three  days  passed  during  which  his  poor  com- 
panion was  made  aware  that  she  seldom  opened 
her  mouth  without  being  offensive  to  him.  Then 
at  last  the  suggestion  found  utterance.  Dinner 
•was  being  served  at  a  round  table  in  the  library. 
The  journey  or  the  damp  weather  had  given  Spen- 
ser a  cold.  He  felt  his  chest  contracted,  a  little 
dry  cough  cut  like  a  lash  applied  in wardly.  Gil- 
lette, full  of  solicitous  forethought,  had  suggested 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  125 

diffidently  their  avoiding  the  chill  atmosphere  of 
the  immense  dining-room.  He  assented  with  an 
unexpected  amiability,  the  desire  to  put  an  end 
to  the  present  uncertainty  having  risen  to  a  fever- 
ish intensity.  And  at  the  end  of  dinner,  rising 
•with  an  elaborate  carelessness  from  the  table, 
he  remarked  indifferently: 

'  By-the-by,  have  you  heard  from  your  friend 
again  lately — the  vacillating  Miss  Bastien,  I 
mean?" 

Gillette  was  still  enjoying  the  pleasure  of  his 
restored  good-humor.  She  had  grown  during  the 
last  few  days  to  dread  the  most  simple  of  her 
own  statements,  so  inflammable  did  they  seem 
to  the  quick  temper  of  her  husband.  And  even 
now  she  searched  anxiously  for  a  secure  answer, 
so  great,  apparently,  was  the  possibility  of  giv- 
ing unconscious  pain. 

'  Yes,  I  heard  yesterday.  She  is  not  very  well, 
I  think." 

"Oh— what  is  the  matter  with  her?" 

He  appeared  to  speak  inattentively,  occupied 
with  the  index  of  a  book  on  Anarchy  he  intended 
reading,  but  his  manner  was  kindly  and  pleasant. 
Gillette  took  courage. 

"I  think  she  worries,"  she  replied,  still  with 
Blight  apprehension,  "because  she  has  made  Cap- 
tain Newngham  unhappy." 

"Men  get  over  these  things,  my  dear."  Then 
seeing  a  startled  expression  in  the  other's  eyes,  he 
hastened  to  add :  "Captain  Newngham  is  a  boy. 
At  his  age  tender  passions  are  not  very  danger- 
ous. It  is  later  on  that  a  man  gets  hard  hit. 


126  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

He  has  not  the  same  vitality  to  recover.  But 
about  Miss  Bastien — why  don't  you  ask  her  to 
come  and  stay  here  for  a  little?  You  are  both 
so  devoted,  it  would  probably  cheer  her  up  to 
be  with  you." 

Gillette  looked  at  him  gratefully,  feeling  he  had 
intended  in  pure  kindness  to  propose  a  plan  con- 
genial to  her.  For  himself,  she  remembered  him 
more  than  once  to  have  said  that  he  detested 
visitors. 

She  did,  indeed,  much  desire  to  see  Ellice.  Yet 
it  was  very  sweet  still,  though  each  day  it  grew 
less  so,  to  be  alone  with  the  man  she  loved.  Liv- 
ing si  deux  there  existed  a  dependence  upon  each 
other  for  society,  talk,  everything — impossible 
with  a  third  person  in  the  house.  Gillette  thrust 
the  notion  aside,  ashamed  of  its  selfishness. 

"I  will  write  and  ask  her  to-morrow.  It  is 
good  of  you  to  have  thought  of  it,"  she  said 
simply. 

Spenser  noticed  the  absence  of  excessive  delight 
in  her  voice,  but  did  not  stop  to  puzzle  out  the 
reason  for  it.  The  thing  was  done :  Ellice  would 
come  to  him.  The  infant  conscience  he  had  more 
than  once  seen  in  her  would  be  snared  facilely. 
If  a  moment's  hesitation  came  to  her  as  to  this 
rapid  visit,  an  irrefutable  argument  was  at  hand. 
She  did  not  come  to  see  him  at  all,  but  Gillette, 
the  friend  and  comforter  of  many  years. 

The  question  once  settled,  he  breathed  with  the 
sense  of  a  wearing  uncertainty  pacified.  His  tem- 
per ameliorated,  and  he  felt  brusquely  a  desire  to 
be  nice  to  Gillette,  to  send  her  to  bed  happy. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  127 

Only,  first  of  all  the  date  of  Ellice's  visit  must 
be  fixed.  To  wait  long  would  entail  a  return  of 
the  exhausting  unrest  of  the  last  few  days.  He 
was  not  well  enough  to  bear  it. 

"Tell  her  to  come  at  once,  while  the  weather 
is  fine.  I  have  to  go  to  town  on  Monday.  I 
could  bring  her  back  if  you  liked." 

Then  he  told  Gillette  to  stop  working,  and  to 
talk  to  him  instead.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  he 
had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  instinctively  how 
this  unexpected  display  of  affection  coursed  like 
the  glow  of  wine  through  the  entire  frame  of  the 
poor  woman  opposite  to  him.  In  the  end  she 
slipped  from  her  chair  on  to  the  hearth-rug  at 
his  feet,  letting  one  hand  steal  timidly  over  his 
knee.  For  a  time  he  left  it  there  in  solitude; 
then,  deciding  while  he  was  about  it  to  make 
the  moment  as  rich  for  her  as  he  could,  he  laid 
his  own  upon  the  waiting  fingers.  Gillette  drew 
a  sigh  of  content,  and  once  more  the  pathos  of 
her  situation  stirred  him  faintly.  She  had  her 
face  turned  away  from  him,  and  her  hair  was 
soft  and  abundant.  He  stroked  it  caressingly, 
aware  that  the  action  quickened  her  heart-beats. 
And  the  evening,  terminated  in  this  fashion,  did, 
as  he  supposed,  more  than  atone  to  the  humble 
affection  of  Gillette  for  all  his  discourtesies  during 
the  past  three  days  since  their  arrival. 

For  fear  of  showing  any  excessive  interest, 
he  avoided  asking  next  morning  whether  the 
letter  was  written.  But  he  watched  Gillette's 
occupations  instead,  scarcely  leaving  her  side 
until  he  saw  her  go  to  the  writing-table  in  her 


128  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

boudoir.  Still  too  unwell  to  go  out,  he  asked 
permission  to  read  by  her  fire  while  she  wrote. 
She  seemed  to  him  an  interminable  time  at  the 
occupation,  but  when  she  got  up  she  held  three 
envelopes  in  her  hand.  Spenser  put  out  an  arm 
to  draw  her  toward  him.  He  had  need  to  be 
assured  that  one  of  these  letters  was  to  Ellice. 
After  ah1,  she  had  shown  no  great  enthusiasm 
the  evening  before,  and  at  breakfast  she  had  re- 
galed him  solely  with  the  story  of  some  nursery 
governess  proved  to  have  stolen  five  pounds  from 
a  friend  of  her  mother's,  and  just  given  into  cus- 
tody. The  circumstance,  moreover,  had  undoubt- 
edly upset  her.  She  had  gone  about  wearing  a 
troubled  look  ever  since.  Twice  she  had  remarked, 
though  more  to  herself  than  him,  "I  must  do 
something,  poor  girl,  poor  girl!" 

In  this  tempestuous  sympathy  for  a  worthless 
criminal  Ellice  would  easily  be  forgotten.  These 
good  'women  adored  the  scum  of  the  earth  al- 
ways. But  the  envelope  uppermost  in  her  hand 
was  addressed  to  Miss  Bastien.  Spenser  felt  phys- 
ical restoration  commence  in  him  at  the  sight; 
now  he  had  only  to  be  patient. 

The  answer  came  on  the  following  Saturday. 
He  saw  it  lying  by  Gillette's  plate  on  the  break- 
fast-table as  he  fetched  a  cup  of  coffee.  She  broke 
open  the  envelope  as  he  returned  to  his  seat. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  half  under  her  breath,  while 
reading. 

Spenser  looked  up  instantly,  riveted  by  premo- 
nition of  disaster.  There  was  disappointment 
written  upon  Gillette's  face.  He  felt  no  necessity 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  129 

to  ask :  she  had  refused.  It  seemed  for  a  moment 
the  impossible;  a  catastrophe  so  horrible  must 
be  outside  human  limits.  Anger  and  pain  choked 
him. 

"Oh,  George,  Ellice  cannot  come!  She  seems 
unwell,  and  she  is  going  to  make  her  aunt  take 
her  to  Nervi  for  the  winter.  You  know  Mrs.  Arch- 
bold  hah0  wanted  to  go  last  year,  only  Ellice 
seemed  so  reluctant.  Ellice  says  she  will  come 
in  the  spring.  They  do  not  leave  immediately, 
but  she  appears  to  have  much  to  see  and  do. 
She  saw  mother  yesterday,  who  told  her  she  had 
done  with  men;  they  were  too  fatiguing  after  a 
certain  age." 

Spenser  made  no  reply.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
had  not  heard  the  last  two  sentences.  Ellice  re- 
fused to  see  him.  With  an  inaudible  mutter  he 
left  the  room.  He  had  got  somehow  to  get  ac- 
customed to  this  unexpected  check;  he  had  also 
to  understand  it.  At  fleeting  intervals  it  excited 
him,  as  if  mingled  obscurely  in  its  disastrousness 
lay  a  slender  thread  of  good.  The  latter  remained 
inchoate,  erratic,  but  touched  him  every  now 
and  then  with  an  uncertain  sense  of  alleviation. 

He  -walked  aimlessly  about  the  library,  and 
from  there  into  the  music-room  opening  out  of 
it.  Never  had  Gillette  been  more  obnoxious  to 
him,  or,  rather,  less  Gillette  than  the  necessary 
conditions  of  married  life,  the  omnivorousness  of 
its  claims  and  encroachments.  Through  it  one 
could  not  even  deal  with  a  grief  unhampered, 
could  not  leave  a  room  at  will  without  explana- 
tions offered  to  another  person.  In  a  moment, 
9 


130  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

for  instance,  Gillette  would  lumber  out  of  the 
dining-room  in  search  of  him,  brimming  over 
•with  detestable  anxieties.  To  avoid  comment, 
he  must  go  back  and  make  a  show  of  eating  a 
meal,  every  mouthful  of  which  would  stick  in 
his  throat,  and  in  all  probability  choke  him.  He 
smiled  with  a  sneer  at  himself.  Through  this 
woman,  whom  he  could  have  married  for  three 
years  and  would  not,  he  seemed  likely  to  end  his 
days  a  prey  to  helpless  melancholia. 

Gillette  greeted  his  return  to  the  dining-room 
with  an  exclamation  of  content;  she  had  been 
about  to  come  and  see  if  he  were  ill.  Spenser 
grunted  a  comment  on  her  childishness,  consider- 
ing that  he  had  enjoyed  excellent  health  three 
minutes  previously.  He  then  flung  his  cold  coffee 
into  the  slop-basin  in  order  to  have  some  fresh. 
As  he  did  so,  without  a  deliberate  thought  upon 
the  matter,  he  realized  suddenly  what  in  EUice's 
refusal  had,  in  spite  of  the  indescribable  bitterness 
of  it,  yet  held  a  queer  substratum  of  savor. 

Vivid  and  undeniable,  certain  facts  rose  abruptly 
in  his  brain.  He  took  his  refilled  cup  of  coffee 
from  Gillette  mechanically.  Ellice  loved  him.  She 
had  broken  off  her  marriage  because  she  loved 
him;  she  would  not  come  to  them  because  she 
loved  him,  and  because  she  was  afraid.  This 
had  been  the  clause — that  she  was  afraid — which 
had  kindled  the  peculiar  agitation  interpenetrat- 
ing his  horrible  misery.  So  she  was  afraid.  He 
drank  his  coffee,  repeating  the  phrase  incessantly, 
as  if  it  lulled  him,  lulled  the  sense  of  frustration 
and  emptiness  his  wife's  letter  had  incited,  lulled 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  131 

everything  but  a  vague  renewal  of  potentialities. 
In  the  spring  she  would  have  to  come.  Like 
himself,  she  would  remember  that  Gillette  must 
suspect  nothing.  And  since,  like  himself,  she  had 
not  undergone  a  change  of  feeling — since  she,  El- 
lice,  the  serene,  light-hearted  Ellice,  was  afraid — 
when  she  came,  how  easy  the  rest! 

He  saw  her  in  imagination  avoiding  for  a  day 
or  two  any  possibility  of  being  left  alone  with 
him,  and  his  own  primary  failure,  probably,  to 
achieve  a  private  interview.  But  it  must  take 
place,  would  take  place  without  effort  when  re- 
sistance had  been  weakened  hour  after  hour  by 
his  voice,  his  presence.  The  inevitable  future 
warmed  him  like  a  draught  of  wine.  Once  more 
he  abandoned  himself  to  plans  and  projects,  im- 
mersed himself  in  making  sweet  and  elaborate 
arrangements  for  her  arrival.  The  months  dwin- 
dled in  his  imagination,  and  he  felt  her  visit 
hardly  retarded,  in  the  multitudinous  things  to 
be  done,  in  the  house  and  out,  as  a  preparation 
for  her  coming.  Suddenly  Gillette's  voice  behind 
the  array  of  silver  that  hedged  her  like  a  garden- 
wall  cut  sharply  into  his  silence. 

"Ah,  well,"  she  said,  speaking  half  musingly, 
"out  there  in  the  Riviera  she  will  meet  so  many 
men ;  perhaps  she  may  grow  to  care  for  some  one 
else.  I  think  she  is  in  the  mood  to  love  if  she 
could.  She  is  sad  and  lonely,  and  writes  that 
she  feels  the  age  of  love  slipping  from  her.  Men 
mostly  love  Ellice.  Soon  she  may  gain  happi- 
ness again." 

With  a  supreme  effort  Spenser  checked  himself 


132  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

from  getting  up  and  striking  her.  Every  -word 
burnt  him  like  a  scald.  For  the  second  time  he 
rose  from  table.  On  this  occasion  he  went 
straight  to  the  inner  hall  for  his  coat  and  stick. 
Ill  or  not,  he  had  a  need  of  air,  solitude,  and 
space,  absolutely  imperative. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  winter  that  followed  was  not  easj  for 
either.  Day  by  day  Spenser's  impatience  for  El- 
lice's  return  increased,  and  week  by  week  his  dis- 
taste to  Gillette  intensified,  until  at  last  to  see  her 
in  his  house  filled  him  with  a  desire  to  take 
her  by  the  shoulders  and  fling  her  out  of  it,  and 
her  money  after  it. 

For  the  first  half  of  the  winter  he  tried  to  keep 
impatience  under  by  having  the  place  constantly 
packed  with  visitors.  Every  spare  bedroom  in 
the  house  was  occupied,  and  all  day  long  rose 
the  noise  of  voices,  of  the  piano,  of  meals  being 
laid  or  cleared  away.  Frequently  Spenser  himself 
saw  nothing  of  his  visitors  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon. It  was  Gillette — Gillette,  who  hated  much 
company,  and  could  not  conquer  her  inherent 
timidity  —  who  endured  them  about  her  from 
breakfast  until  bedtime.  Trivial  flirtations  per- 
meated the  building,  and  the  rustling  of  women's 
skirts  and  the  hard  sound  of  billiard-balls  knock- 
ing against  each  other. 

Gillette  suffered  acutely,  but  at  the  same  time 
showed  no  outward  signs  of  dislike  to  these  fort- 
nightly invasions.  Since  he  desired  them,  she 
could  at  least  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  obeying  pleas- 
antly. Nevertheless,  it  was  a  difficult  period.  In 
the  conversations  which  took  place  before  her 


134  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

she  could  rarely  join  easily.  The  people,  plays, 
and  entertainments  discussed  she  had  no  cogni- 
zance of,  and  the  atmosphere  of  mind  breathed 
out  into  the  talk  affected  her  sensitiveness  like 
a  bad  odor. 

All  the  work  she  loved  had  to  be  laid  aside  for 
her  onerous  duties  as  hostess.  Only  during  the 
night  did  she  even  find  time  for  the  voluminous 
correspondence  her  many  acts  of  charity  involved. 
For  Gillette  had  a  number  of  friends  among  the 
suffering  and  outcast  to  whom  her  tireless  sym- 
pathy was  like  honey  in  the  throat.  And  always 
more  unfettered  when  -writing  than  when  speak- 
ing, in  her  letters  she  gave  the  beauty  of  her 
soul  to  them  unconsciously. 

Yet  her  smile  at  this  period  remained  calm  and 
ready.  None  suspected  the  pain  she  endured 
while  day  by  day,  like  little  drops  of  poison  in 
the  system,  she  received  more  light  on  the  real 
condition  of  affairs  between  her  husband  and 
herself.  Gillette's  intuitions  were  anything  but 
dull.  It  took  far  less  than  Spenser  credited  to 
make  her  realize  irretrievably  that  he  did  not 
love  her.  Instinct  apprehended  it  in  a  month; 
for  one  or  two  more  she  struggled  against  her 
own  conviction;  then  in  silence,  feeling  emptied 
thereby  of  bodily  substance,  she  accepted  the  fact 
that  this  earthly  love  she  had  thought  hers  had 
not  existed  as  she  believed. 

That  Spenser  was  totally  without  affection,  it 
is  true,  her  mind  refused  to  credit.  The  fact  ex- 
posed him  in  too  pitiable  a  light.  She  believed 
him  originally  to  have  been  under  the  impression 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  135 

that  he  loved  her,  deceived  by  the  'glamour  of 
her  money.  But  she  was  an  inadequate  wife,  and 
chafed  and  disgusted  him.  The  fears  that  had 
lashed  her  at  the  beginning  of  their  engagement 
proved  more  than  justified.  With  her  inflexibility 
of  conscience,  she  stood  incessantly  in  an  attitude 
of  unwilling  antagonism  to  him.  And  week  by 
week  he  drew  more  completely  out  of  all  tender 
intercourse.  In  a  month  after  their  return  to 
Rook  House  she  was  already  used  to  seeing  him 
only  among  their  guests,  or,  if  alone  for  a  few 
seconds,  only  in  order  to  endure  peevish  and  un- 
justified complaints. 

Gillette  travelled  far  that  autumn  in  the  lacerat- 
ing road  of  anguish.  But  she  bore  her  disillusion 
kneeling,  with  prayers  that  she  might  soon  learn 
to  disregard  her  heart's  relinquishment,  the  more 
to  immerse  herself  in  the  beauty  of  the  Christ 
ideal,  and  in  ministrations  of  love  to  those  need- 
ing either  help  or  comfort.  And  above  the  disin- 
tegration of  personal  happiness  her  soul  remained 
fixed  and  still.  Sorely  tried,  it  issued  from  the 
ordeal  pure  and  clear  as  running  water.  At  the 
end  of  her  martyrdom  Gillette  had  not  let  drop 
one  fragment  of  belief  in  the  ultimate  triumph 
of  good,  or  of  gratitude  for  what  was  beautiful 
on  the  earth  and  in  human  conduct.  Into  her 
grief  not  a  grain  of  bitterness  had  fallen.  It  had 
but  deepened  her  grasp  of  what  pain  signified, 
and  sharpened  her  conviction  that  the  joy  of  life 
lies  only  in  its  opportunity  of  use  to  others. 

Suddenly,  shortly  before  Christmas,  Spenser 
wearied  of  the  constant  presence  of  people  in  his 


136  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

house,  and  quite  abruptly  they  fell  back  upon  a 
tete-a-tete  existence.  Mr.  Crawford,  their  neigh- 
bor, was  almost  the  only  person  for  the  rest  of 
the  winter  who  came  into  the  place.  Him,  how- 
ever, Spenser  asked  so  continually  that  not  a  day 
passed,  it  seemed  to  Gillette,  without  his  arrival 
at  some  period.  He  became  a  factor  of  their 
daily  life  at  last.  She  even  once  or  twice  forgot 
to  greet  him  with  the  customary  formula,  so 
much  did  he  seem  a  resident  member  of  the  house- 
hold. 

For  a  day  or  two  after  Spenser's  hasty  decision 
to  have  no  more  house-parties,  there  had  flickered 
in  her  eager  anticipation  of  a  return  to  better 
days.  But  he  avoided  her  presence  as  carefully 
as  ever,  while  his  insistent  invitations  to  Craw- 
ford she  could  not  but  suspect,  in  the  end,  given 
partly  to  escape  from  being  alone  with  her. 
Henceforward,  therefore,  with  an  instinctive  deli- 
cacy of  pride,  she  herself  contrived  to  keep  her 
presence  as  little  intrusive  as  possible. 

To  Sidney  Crawford  at  this  period  the  state  of 
affairs  was  much  what  he  had  anticipated,  only, 
if  possible,  more  patent  and  unmistakable.  For 
no  reason  that  he  knew  of,  he  had  a  certain  lik- 
ing for  Spenser,  and  his  first  condition  of  mind 
was  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  husband. 
From  the  beginning  he  had  longed  to  tell  him 
that  en?  could  buy  certain  advantages  at  too 
appalling  a  cost.  For  no  man  knew  better  than 
he  how  adhesive  a  woman  bound  to  one  by  any 
tie  could  become  to  one's  daily  life. 

Gillette,  during  the  first  few  weeks  of  their  re- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  137 

newed  acquaintance,  he  almost  disliked.  It  was 
such  a  bore  to  have  to  reckon  always  with  a 
woman  one  did  not  know  what  to  say  to.  Her 
appearance,  certainly,  he  considered  much  im- 
proved under  Spenser's  tuition,  and,  though  her 
figure  still  inclined  to  the  form  of  a  tub,  the  ex- 
pression of  radiant  kindness  in  the  face  gave  her 
to  him  something  very  near  to  beauty.  The 
strain  she  was  passing  through  cooled  the  color 
of  her  complexion,  and  the  eyes  seemed  illumined 
as  well  as  darkened.  But  in  the  initial  conversa- 
tions they  held  together  her  total  absence  of  small- 
talk  paralyzed  the  man  who  was  accustomed  to 
very  little  else.  He  did  not  feel  equal  to  launch- 
ing upon  another  religious  cross-examination; 
interest  in  her  was  too  completely  non-existent. 

Nevertheless,  by  the  spring  Gillette  had  left  a 
sensible  mark  upon  the  minds  of  both  men. 
Slowly,  with  astonishment,  and  almost  with  re- 
luctance, they  grew  to  recognize  that  a  fine  per- 
sonality dwelt  in  the  midst  of  them.  It  did  not 
in  Spenser  increase  good-humor.  The  fact  accen- 
tuated his  own  brutality,  and  by  so  doing  in- 
flamed his  bitterness.  But  now  and  then,  half 
grudgingly,  he  did  at  least  yield  her  a  passing 
admiration.  Crawford,  however,  in  whom  she 
thwarted  nothing,  after  a  while  frankly  admitted 
an  ennobling  influence.  To  Spenser  himself  he 
confessed  one  evening  after  dinner  that  Mrs.  Spen- 
ser's beauty  of  character  was  a  revelation. 

For  Gillette  spent  her  days  in  an  unselfish  ac- 
tivity that  could  not  always  conceal  itself  from 
a  visitor  as  intimate  as  Crawford.  She  had 


138  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

bought  two  cottages  in  the  village,  furnished 
them,  and  kept  them  always  filled  by  three  or 
four  sick  or  suffering.  When  the  governess,  whose 
conviction  for  theft  she  had  followed  so  closely, 
came  out  of  prison,  Gillette  was  outside  the 
prison  doors  to  meet  her.  Extenuating  circum- 
stances (the  dangerous  illness  of  her  illegitimate 
child)  had  been  brought  forward,  and  two  days 
after  the  release  Gillette  had  both  her  and  the 
child  in  the  cottage  for  the  winter.  Spenser  di- 
vulged this  incident  to  Crawford  as  an  instance 
of  the  sickly  sentimentality  of  religious  women 
and  the  degenerating  quality  of  their  ideas.  The 
Irishman,  however,  easily  roused  to  enthusiasm, 
declared  the  affair  profoundly  beautiful.  It  was 
one  of  rare  charitable  deeds  that  entail  personal 
labor,  immense  accuracy  of  intuition,  a  thousand 
delicate  qualities  that  would  prohibit  it  from 
most  well-meaning  philanthropists,  and  his  pri- 
mary indifference  to  Gillette  died  then  and  there. 
In  its  place  grew  slowly  an  attentive  eagerness 
to  perceive  spiritual  charm,  which  ended  by  em- 
bedding in  his  disposition  an  uncomprehending 
admiration.  He  found  her  presence  then  eloquent 
instead  of  her  lips.  She  breathed  out  goodness, 
peace,  intelligence,  instead  of  speaking  of  them. 
And  truly  she  had  thought  for  every  one.  Even 
the  little  trivial  likes  and  dislikes  of  those  she 
associated  with  seemed  rapidly  to  become  fixed 
in  her  mind.  There  was  nothing  too  small  or 
too  great,  apparently,  for  this  woman  to  render 
as  service  to  others;  and  so  overflowing  is  the 
happiness  inseparable  from  noble  conduct,  that 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  139 

her  face,  for  all  the  private  pain-marking  shadows 
round  the  eyes,  was  often  like  a  vessel  full  to  the 
brim  in  its  gentle  radiance.  On  these  occasions 
Crawford,  speculating  curiously  what  fruitful  ac- 
tion she  had  just  been  about,  felt  also  as  if  blessed 
himself  by  the  rays  emitted.  Holiness  hung  about 
him,  and  he  shook  off  her  influence  occasionally 
with  something  akin  to  effort. 

He  regarded  her  as  a  saint  long  before  he  ac- 
quired facility  in  talking  to  her ;  that  he  did  only 
when  Gillette  had  discerned  the  warm  sympathies 
dormant  under  his  superficial  selfishness.  By 
Christmas  each  was  aware  that  the  other  ex- 
perienced a  genuine,  if  secret,  liking,  but  even 
then  it  was  long  before  ease  and  familiarity  rose 
between  them.  Crawford  for  a  considerable  time 
before  then  had  considered  the  other  as  the  one 
elevating  factor  in  his  existence,  finding  his  gen- 
eral lightness  of  behavior  already  tempered  by 
the  depth  of  character  possessed  by  his  neighbor's 
wife.  For  that  Spenser  made  her  secretly  un- 
happy was  obvious.  If  he  could  wound  her,  he 
did,  while  his  avoidance  of  her  society  became 
doubly  insulting  through  its  frankness. 

Not  that  Spenser,  however,  did  not  make  occa- 
sional efforts  to  remedy  his  behavior.  During  the 
intermittent  periods,  when  the  "Ellice  craze,"  as 
he  himself  designated  his  infatuation,  sank  soothed 
from  sheer  exhaustion,  then  his  antipathy  to  Gil- 
lette dwindled  also,  and  a  passing  compunction 
seized  him.  He  experienced  at  such  times  a  deep 
gratitude  to  her  for  her  wonderful  acceptance 
of  a  dire  situation,  and,  marvelling  at  the  strength 


140  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

behind  the  simple  exterior,  would  come  unexpect- 
edly to  her  room  and  talk  for  an  hour  or  so. 
Sometimes  even,  knowing  how  it  appealed  to  her 
strong  protective  instincts,  he  would  avow  himself 
weary  of  everything,  and  only  desirous  of  lying 
like  a  child  against  her  breast.  He  would  feel 
then,  as  she  drew  his  head  against  her  shoulder, 
how  the  hands  trembled  with  the  tenderness 
called  up  in  her.  They  would  sit  in  this  fashion 
without  speaking,  Gillette's  heart  beating  tumul- 
tuously  against  his  body,  and  the  man  dreaming 
of  Ellice.  He  had  but  to  sit  in  the  gloom  against 
the  soft  figure  of  Gillette,  and  Ellice  insinuated 
herself  into  his  imagination.  He  closed  his  eyes, 
and  she  rose  before  him.  In  fact,  never  did  she 
keep  him  closer  company  than  upon  these  occa- 
sions. 

Unfortunately,  the  slightest  incident  sufficed  to 
re-establish  callousness.  And  only  once,  perhaps, 
did  Gillette's  moral  peculiarity  profoundly  move 
him.  A  woman  had  murdered  the  child  of  another 
woman,  of  whom  she  was  jealous.  The  trial 
took  place  shortly  before  Christmas,  and  one 
evening  at  dinner  Crawford  chanced  to  speak  of 
the  condemnation.  A  petition  for  reprieve  had 
been  refused,  and  she  was  to  be  hung  on  the  Mon- 
day after  New  Year's  Day.  Gillette,  at  the  foot 
of  the  table,  listened  with  visible  distress,  and, 
upon  Spenser's  half-contemptuous  assertion  that 
she  condoned  brutality,  admitted  that  she  felt 
extreme  pity  for  the  murderess. 

"Think  what  she  must  have  gone  through  to 
grow  so  cruel,"  she  stammered,  almost  under  her 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  141 

breath.  "And  it  is  a  punishment  so  ghastly. 
Oh,  pray  God  she  is  at  least  not  imaginative — 
not  too  afraid." 

She  g  )t  up  abruptly,  and,  with  a  sudden  state- 
ment as  to  feeling  overheated  and  faint,  left  the 
room. 

"My  better  half  seems  a  little  hysterical,"  re- 
marked Spenser  indifferently. 

Crawford  suggested  that  a  servant  should  be 
sent  to  see  if  Mrs.  Spenser  -were  really  unwell. 
An  answer  came  back  that  Mrs.  Spenser  felt 
merely  a  little  upset  by  the  heat  of  the  immense 
fire,  but  begged  to  be  excused  for  that  evening. 

The  incident  passed  immediately  out  of  Spenser's 
mind. 

One  evening,  however,  a  few  weeks  later,  he  was 
seized  at  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night  with  an 
unprecedented  desire  to  talk  to  somebody.  Craw- 
ford was  in  town ;  Gillette  had  retired  to  her  room 
before  ten  o'clock.  It  was  extremely  unusual  for 
him  to  feel  a  need  of  human  intercourse,  but  now 
and  again  lately  the  unrest  of  his  floating  antici- 
pations drove  him  into  preferring  anything  to  sol- 
itude. The  feeling  was  strong  upon  him  this  even- 
ing, but,  concluding  that  Gillette  would  be  asleep, 
he  finally  retired  to  his  own  room  with  a  volume 
of  R.  L.  Stevenson.  Obnoxious,  persistent  dis- 
couragement preoccupied  him.  He  could  neither 
sleep  nor  read.  At  last  he  gave  up  trying  to  do 
either,  and  decided  to  go  to  Gillette  and  babble 
to  her  of  subjects  not  really  in  his  mind,  but 
which  would  help  to  take  it  off  depressing  prog- 
nostications. 


142  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

He  entered  her  room  without  knocking,  assured 
of  finding  a  tranquil  slumber.  By  \vay  of  com. 
pensating  for  interrupted  rest,  he  proposed  to 
wake  the  girl  with  a  kiss.  He  had  not  stopped 
to  put  on  slippers,  and  his  feet  on  the  thick  pile 
of  the  red  carpet  did  not  make  a  sound.  But 
the  bed  was  empty,  the  coverings  still  turned 
down  cornerwise  one  side,  as  left  by  the  maid 
in  her  evening's  preparations.  It  must  be  twelve 
or  past,  and  Gillette  had  not  gone  to  bed.  For 
no  ascertainable  reason  Spenser  felt  annoyed. 
The  idiot  was  doubtless  praying  in  the  room  be- 
yond. Really,  she  must  be  going  mad  to  carry 
her  religious  exercises  to  the  excess  she  did.  Then 
he  saw  the  door  of  the  powder-room  to  be  open. 
He  went  across,  prepared  rudely  to  check  her 
spiritual  output.  Curiosity  stopped  him  on  the 
threshold.  She  was  praying  out  loud,  though 
little  above  a  whisper.  Spenser  stood  near  enough 
to  see  part  of  her  figure.  She  had  her  back  turned 
to  him,  but  in  all  her  attitude  was  an  appear- 
ance of  tension,  as  if  the  ardor  of  her  mind  sent 
a  current  of  emotion  throughout  her  body.  Spen- 
ser stopped  short,  and,  idly  curious,  kept  even  his 
breath  in  semi-check. 

"O  Christ,"  petitioned  the  low  voice  of  Gillette, 
"I  beseech  Thee  be  with  this  poor  sinner  to-night. 
O  Christ,  grant  that  her  soul  may  live  again  in 
her,  that  she  may  see,  and  feel,  and  grow  re- 
pentant. I  beseech  Thee,  I  beseech  Thee,  com. 
fort  her,  renew  her  spiritual  insight.  And,  O 
God,  be  merciful  to  her.  Spare  her  intolerable 
fear  and  pain.  Dear  Lord,  be  gentle  to  this  sin- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  143 

ner,  whose  soul  lay  dead,  who  could  not  under- 
stand what  she  did,  what  agony  the  little  one 
suffered."  (He  could  hear  the  tears  throbbing  in 
her  voice.)  "Be  merciful,  for  terror  of  physical 
agony  is  horrible,  too,  O  God.  It  freezes  the 
blood — it  is  awful!  Dear  Saviour,  forgive  her, 
and  make  her  washed  and  purified  from  sin. 
Spare  her,  too,  in  this  heavy  human  punishment 
the  fear  that  maddens,  the  horror  that  makes 
the  throat  dust." 

Spenser  found  himself  touched,  in  disregard  of 
his  will,  and  at  first  puzzled.  Then  he  remem- 
bered the  woman  who  had  not  been  reprieved, 
and  whose  execution  evidently  would  take  place 
to-morrow. 

"Gillette,  stop  this,  and  come  to  bed.  What 
the  devil  are  you  trying  to  catch  your  death  of 
cold  at  this  time  of  night  for?"  His  manner  was 
rough,  but  even  the  other  could  feel  a  certain 
kindly  mood  underlying  it.  Gillette  sprang  to 
her  feet,  startled  and  shamefaced.  "Come  to  bed  at 
once,"  went  on  Spenser  angrily;  and  she  obeyed, 
though  she  still  caught  her  breath  with  quick, 
strangled  sobs.  Spenser  saw  her  face  was  pale 
and  drawn-looking. 

For  himself,  the  incident  seemed  to  have  exor- 
cised his  surplus  depression.  His  mind  felt  disen- 
cumbered already  of  the  nervous  excitement  of 
the  evening.  In  an  hour  he  fell  asleep.  When  he 
woke  in  the  morning,  Gillette  lay  no  longer  in 
bed.  Almost  immediately  he  guessed  what  she 
was  doing.  She  would  be  found  upon  her  knees, 
keeping  piteous  intercession  during  the  last  grim 


144  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

hours  of  this  human  tragedy.  She  was  living 
•with  the  victim  the  supreme  agony  of  the  death 
preparations;  she  was  importuning  Heaven  that 
a  little  mercy  might  mitigate  them,  and  a  great 
stream  of  spiritual  love  follow  the  sharp,  brief 
torture  of  death. 

He  got  up  as  noiselessly  as  he  could.  It  was 
five  minutes  to  eight  by  Gillette's  gilt  travelling- 
clock  on  the  mantelpiece — a  clock  flanked,  to  Spen- 
ser's unceasing  annoyance,  by  a  row  of  female 
portraits,  small  and  large,  with  inscriptions  un- 
derneath— photographs,  he  presumed,  of  Gillette's 
succored  riff-raff. 

The  door  of  the  little  adjoining  room  was  al- 
most closed.  She  had  probably  not  dared  quite 
to  close  it,  for  fear  of  rousing  him.  He  heard  no 
audible  intercession  this  time,  but  felt  certain  of 
her  kneeling  presence.  Acting  upon  a  sudden 
kindly  impulse,  Spenser  did  not  again  interfere. 
With  Gillette's  deep  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer, 
to  be  stopped  from  keeping  this  bitter,  earnest 
vigil  would  be  to  feel  distress  for  many  days. 
Moreover,  its  termination  could  not  but  be  close 
at  hand.  Gillette  knew  the  hour  of  execution, 
and  was  not  likely,  he  hazarded,  to  continue  end- 
lessly petitioning  for  the  dead.  That,  happily, 
did  not  form  part  of  the  Protestant  creed. 

He  retired  to  his  room,  and  at  breakfast  Gil- 
lette appeared  much  as  usual — grave,  but  atten- 
tive to  his  wants,  and  wearing  her  usual  gentle 
expression. 

Next  morning,  as  the  paper  was  brought  in, 
however,  he  saw  her  closed  lips  twitch  slightly. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  145 

Motived  by  a  rare  but  genuine  kindness,  Spenser, 
instead  of  reading  where  he  was,  rose,  and  took 
the  paper  into  the  library.  Having  read  it,  more- 
over, he  proceeded  to  burn  the  part  giving  a  de- 
scription of  the  woman's  butchery,  and,  that  she 
migh  suspect  nothing,  stuffed  the  rest  of  the  paper 
into  the  coal-box.  Later  on  in  the  day,  when 
Gillette  asked  to  see  the  paper,  he  professed  to 
have  mislaid  it. 

After  dinner  that  evening  he  told  the  story  to 
Crawford.  Frankly  he  admitted  that  an  imper- 
sonal emotion  so  intense  eluded  him.  Crawford 
listened  in  silence. 

"Good  Lord,  man!"  he  remarked  at  the  end, 
his  soft  voice  not  entirely  free  from  the  Southern 
intonation,  "your  wife  is  enough  to  make  one 
believe  in  religion!  And  certainly  she's  made  a 
fool  of  me.  The  tears  in  a  second  will  course 
down  me  cheeks.  Well,  well,  there's  more  in  this 

d world  than  I  expected.  What  stumps  me, 

is  keeping  up  the  sympathy  all  this  time.  I  can 
weep  with  the  best  of  you — look  at  me  sweet 
blue  eyes,  now,  all  blurred  with  honest  tears! 
But  after  three  weeks,  that's  what  beats  me! 
Upon  my  word,  it's  just  the  prettiest  story  I 
ever  heard!  Spenser,  I  want  to  cry.  Me  wick- 
edness, me  cold  and  hardened  heart,  lies  so  heavy 
in  me  breast." 

"Don't  be  a  fool!"  muttered  Spenser  bluntly, 
used  to  the  other's  outbursts.  He  had  already 
more  than  once  told  Crawford  himself  that  he 
did  not  believe  he  possessed  a  single  emotion  in 
his  body;  the  moment  he  received  one  he  flung 
10 


146  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

it  all  out  of  him  in  a  torrential  burst  of  confi- 
dence. Crawford  on  these  occasions  smiled 
blandly,  and  admitted  that  he  had  objections  to 
retaining  an  excess  of  feeling.  Ten  minutes  of  ex- 
travagant expression,  and  physically  he  became 
disloaded,  lightened,  calmed. 

"Once  more  me  and  me  fat  is  left  to  a  -wedded 
peace,"  he  explained  genially.  Like  a  good  mam- 
fat  men,  he  frequently  spoke  of  himself  as  if  he 
had  been  an  overgrown  infant. 

After  Spenser's  story  they  went  for  once  into 
the  drawing-room  before  going  to  play  billiards. 
Gillette  sat  on  the  sofa  near  the  fire  when  they 
came  in,  and  for  once  had  no  occupation.  Usu- 
ally since  her  marriage  she  dressed  in  black,  but 
she  wore  this  evening  an  out-of-date-looking  fawn 
tea-gown,  in  which  she  appeared  enormous. 
Crawford,  advancing  to  pay  homage,  felt  that 
a  douche  of  cold  water  had  been  poured  upon 
his  enthusiasm.  In  the  last  half-hour  he  had 
permitted  imagination  several  acrobatic  feats, 
and  the  kind  of  woman  he  half  expected  to  see 
was  Gillette  extenuated,  etherealized,  almost  re- 
duced to  a  mere  fillette  again.  In  the  face  of  the 
reality  he  sank  back  into  the  immense  chair  op- 
posite with  an  inarticulate  sound  of  disappoint- 
ment. 

"Awfully  bad  for  the  emotions  —  an  ugly 
woman!"  he  said  silently.  Truly  the  Almighty 
had  made  a  grave  mistake  for  once.  Here  was 
every  equipment  for  a  savior  of  souls.  The 
amount  of  fish  hauled  in  to  the  Paradisaical  net 
would  have  been  prodigious,  satiating,  glutton- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  147 

izing,  even,  but  for  one  paramount  essential  omit- 
ted. The  appearance  of  the  bait  was  not  beguil- 
ing to  the  nibbling  fish,  and  for  this  small  error 
the  Almighty  would  doubtless  have  to  go  with- 
out what  would  otherwise  indubitably  have  been 
a  whacking  dish  of  souls.  It  was  a  great,  an  in- 
contestable pity. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Two  or  three  days  after  this  incident,  by  the 
second  post  there  came  a  letter  from  Ellice.  Spen- 
ser was  alone  in  the  dining-room  when  it  arrived. 
He  had  just  returned  from  hunting,  and  was 
waiting  for  a  late  lunch.  He  seldom  followed  to 
the  death,  and  that  day,  dead  tired,  had  turned 
back  shortly  after  one  o'clock.  Taking  the  let- 
ters from  the  tray,  he  saw  Ellice' s  handwriting 
in  a  second.  Its  appeal  was  immediate  and  irre- 
sistible ;  for  a  second  the  temptation  to  read  and 
then  burn  the  letter  flickered  within  him.  She 
had  not  written,  to  his  knowledge,  since  Christ- 
mas Day.  This  -was  probably  to  announce  her 
return,  and  merely  to  know  the  date  of  that 
would  be  to  experience  a  foretaste  of  reality. 

He  went  immediately  in  search  of  Gillette.  Her 
maid  informed  him  that  she  was  out;  had  left 
directly  after  her  lunch,  at  one  o'clock.  That  up- 
set him.  Heaven  only  knew  when  she  would  be 
back.  Once  down  in  the  village  or  at  her  cot- 
tages, nothing  but  the  dinner-hour  could  insure 
her  return. 

He  stood  in  front  of  the  boudoir  fire,  where 
her  absence  had  been  ascertained  by  him.  As  in 
her  bedroom,  a  promiscuous  quantity  of  photo- 
graphs filled  the  mantel-shelf.  A  fair  number  of 
them  looked  like  the  portraits  of  servant-girls. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  149 

In  the  midst  was  a  cabinet  of  Ellice ;  he  had  never 
noticed  it  previously,  hidden  as  it  was  by  the 
row  in  front.  That  a  photograph  of  Ellice  stood 
upon  the  inlaid  writing-bureau  he  knew — he  pos- 
sessed a  replica  of  that  himself;  and  the  discov- 
ery that  the  thing  had  been  also  given  to  others 
caused  his  fingers  to  itch  every  time  he  came  near 
to  it. 

This  other,  however,  was  a  new  discovery.  He 
took  it  carefully  from  off  the  mantelpiece,  dis- 
turbed instantly  at  the  sight.  For  it  was  Ellice 
—  very  young,  scarcely  seventeen — in  a  white 
gown  of  tulle,  probably  the  gown  of  her  first 
ball.  The  arms  slim,  a  little  too  thin,  were  folded 
in  front  of  her.  The  neck  was  bare  and  round 
and  young.  Her  face,  a  little  upturned — evidently 
carrying  it  so  had  always  been  a  trick  of  hers — 
had  the  fresh,  ignorant  look  of  all  immature  crea- 
tures. Innocence  and  gayety  were  its  only  expres- 
sions; at  least,  no,  eagerness  also  for  the  still 
hidden  things  hung  about  the  wide-open  eyes, 
the  curved,  smiling  lips.  Her  hair  had  been  tied 
with  a  bow  at  the  nape  of  the  neck,  and  the  ex- 
ceeding youth  of  the  whole  figure  strained  Spen- 
ser's heart-strings. 

His  fingers  commenced  cautiously  to  move  the 
clasps  at  the  back.  The  theft  could  never  be 
brought  home  to  him.  Probably  Gillette  had 
forgotten  the  photograph's  existence  behind  the 
thrilling  array  of  her  saved  souls.  He  had  pushed 
aside  the  brass  clips,  when  he  heard  a  footstep 
along  the  passage.  In  an  instant  he  replaced  the 
frame  in  its  place.  Gillette  entered  the  room  as 


150  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

he  withdrew  his  hand.  She  breathed  a  little 
heavily,  and  had  on  a  clumsy-looking  sealskin 
cape,  that  covered  her  almost  to  the  knees. 

On  seeing  her  husband  unexpectedly,  she  seemed 
startled,  and  stood  for  a  minute  resting  against 
the  settee,  as  if  taken  with  an  attack  of  palpita- 
tion. 

"You  here?"  she  remarked,  with  a  quiet  sur- 
prise. "Is  there  anything  you  want,  dear?" 

She  was  unfastening  her  cloak,  and  her  move- 
ments had  the  inability  of  extreme  weariness. 
Spenser  suspected  what  he  designated  usually  as 
"an  orgie"  in  sympathy  during  her  outing.  Her 
voice,  moreover,  annoyed  him,  an  unconscious  re- 
proach seeming  to  him  concealed  in  the  surprise 
of  it.  He  restrained  his  irritability,  however. 
Without  amiability  he  could  scarcely  have  a  rea- 
son for  remaining  during  the  perusal  of  her  let- 
ters, and  for  casually  learning  their  contents. 

"I  wanted  my  wife.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  dear, 
I  came  in  tired  and  missed  you.  Let's  have  early 
tea  up  here.  Where  have  you  been?  Oh,  I  forgot ! 
— here  are  two  letters  for  you." 

"From  mother  and  Ellice,"  said  Gillette,  sitting 
down  on  the  settee,  and  resting  her  head  against 
the  back  of  the  seat.  "Yes,  dear,  let  us  have  tea 
up  here;  and  will  you  ring  and  tell  them?  I  am 
so  very  tired." 

"What  on  earth  have  you  been  doing  to  wear 
yourself  out  like  this?"  answered  Spenser,  a  slight 
snappishness  permeating  his  voice  unawares. 
"And  why  on  earth  don't  you  read  your  letters?" 
he  added,  as  he  turned  back  and  saw  her  still 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  151 

sitting  with  her  eyes  closed.  "My  dear  girl,  do 
you  feel  ill?" 

Her  face  looked  quite  pinched,  and  he  had  never 
seen  her  with  so  little  color.  Had  she  caught  an 
infectious  disease  from  one  of  her  cottagers,  and 
was  she  sickening  for  some  long  illness? 

Gillette  took  up  her  letters  listlessly,  and  broke 
open  Ellice's. 

"I  am  not  very  well,"  she  said  as  she  did  so, 
and  it  struck  him  that  there  was  something  pe- 
culiar in  her  voice. 

As  she  read  he  watched  her  face  from  his  posi- 
tion in  front  of  the  fireplace.  Its  expression  re- 
mained unaltered.  He  started  coughing,  and,  to 
his  annoyance,  she  stopped  reading  to  look  up 
at  him  anxiously. 

"Now,  child,  don't,  for  goodness'  sake,  begin 
to  worry  about  me.  Go  on  with  your  letters. 
I  have  a  cold,  but  I  shall  not  die  of  it." 

He  felt  beside  himself  at  her  idiotic  and  unneces- 
sary delays.  It  seemed  to  him,  indeed,  as  if  he 
passed  the  greater  part  of  his  life  now,  with  a 
brain  on  fire,  waiting  for  this  woman  to  read  a 
letter. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  footman  appeared 
in  answer  to  the  bell. 

"Bring  up  tea  and  some  sandwiches.  I  shall 
not  require  lunch,  after  all,"  he  ordered  curtly, 
again  furious  with  Gillette. 

Her  interest  in  her  epistle  was  so  slight  she 
actually  paused  once  more  to  look  up  while  he 
addressed  the  servant.  Moreover,  when  at  last 
she  had  finished  its  perusal,  she  laid  it  down  with- 


152  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

out  a  word  upon  the  settee,  and  commenced  her 
mother's. 

Spenser  waited,  staring  from  where  he  stood 
out  of  the  window.  It  had  been  a  dull,  clouded 
morning;  now  it  had  commenced  to  rain.  Mrs. 
Sinclair's  communication  to  her  daughter  ap- 
peared interminable.  Spenser  finally  walked 
across  to  the  window,  and  gazed  out  at  the 
green  of  the  wet  grass,  hemmed  in  by  the  naked 
branches  of  the  elms. 

He  turned  round  again  at  last,  at  the  end  of 
endurance.  A  plain  question  could  do  no  harmj 
and  Gillette  appeared  too  lackadaisical  to  open 
her  mouth.  Just  then  she  said: 

"Ellice  is  not  coming  back  until  April.  I  am 
so  disappointed.  I — had — so  hoped  to  have  her 
here  soon." 

Spenser  sat  down  on  the  nearest  chair,  the  one 
in  front  of  the  closed  bureau  by  the  window. 
For  a  moment  Ellice  herself  became  loathsome 
to  him.  He  longed  to  revile  her,  to  inundate 
her  person  in  vile  phrases,  in  lying  accusations. 
Oppression  lay  like  a  volume  of  heavy  matter 
on  his  chest.  He  gave  her  up:  she  was  a  silly 
little  fool.  There  were  other  women  as  dis- 
tracting and  as  superficial. 

The  footman  brought  in  the  tea-tray.  Spenser 
watched  him  with  a  growing  sense  of  self-pity. 
How  he  suffered,  unknown  to  everybody!  After 
all,  he  had  never  loved  but  one  woman ;  it  seemed 
hard,  therefore,  that,  asking  so  little,  he  should 
attain  nothing.  Mentally,  he  traced  his  own  per- 
sistent ill-luck  from  the  time  of  his  birth  until 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  153 

the  present  moment.  He  did  not  actually  feel 
sick,  but  his  chest  was  contracted  and  his  throat 
parched. 

"Tea  is  ready,  dear.  Won't  you  come  over  here? 
You  look  so  dejected  sitting  there.  George,  are 
you  sure  that  your  cold  is  not  serious,  that  your 
lung  is  not  troubling  you?" 

"My  dear  girl,  I  have  just  told  you  there  is 
nothing  the  matter  with  me." 

He  came,  however,  and  sat  in  a  chintz-covered 
chair  by  the  fire.  Since  he  had  heard  the  news, 
it  tired  him  to  walk  across  the  room.  His  chief 
inclination  was  to  sit  on  doing  nothing  and  hear- 
ing nothing,  until  a  kind  of  stupor  settled  upon 
hie  brain.  Renewed  antipathy  to  Gillette  was 
rising  through  the  blow  just  dealt  to  him.  He 
hoped,  for  her  own  sake,  that  she  might  perceive 
he  was  not  inclined  for  conversation. 

"George,"  she  said,  however,  the  moment  he 
came  up  for  his  cup,  and  she  moved  the  china 
senselessly  about  the  tray,  "mother  wants  to 
come  down  and  stay  here.  May  I  have  her?" 

She  spoke  diffidently,  like  a  child  asking  a  favor. 
Gillette  knew  his  innate  antagonism  to  her 
mother. 

"No,  you  may  not.  I  am  not  in  the  mood  to 
put  up  with  your  mother,  and  that's  flat.  I  have 
about  as  much  as  I  can  do  with  now.  She  can 
not  came  down  here  for  the  present." 

He  felt  better  the  moment  the  outburst  had  left 
his  chest.  The  mere  violence  of  his  delivery  eased 
the  bitterness  accumulating  since  his  recent  dis- 
appointment. And,  in  truth,  to  have  that  vul- 


154  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

gar,  chattering,  noisy  woman  in  his  house  until 
he  felt  better  would  kill  him.  Silence  followed 
his  statement.  He  looked  up,  and  saw  Gillette 
staring  at  him  with  a  look  of  absolute  horror, 
Twice  she  tried  to  speak  and  could  not.  Then 
she  rose  from  her  seat.  She  appeared  dazed  at 
the  violence  of  his  manner,  and  Spenser  felt  as 
if  her  face  grew  haggard  as  he  watched. 

"George." 

His  name  passed  her  lips  as  if  pumped  from 
the  depths  of  her  being.  She  appeared  unable  to 
say  more. 

"My  dear  Gillette,  don't  be  theatrical.  Your 
mother  is  a  very  good  soul,  but  she  is  not  con- 
genial to  me,  and  I  do  not  choose  to  have  her 
at  the  moment.  Tell  her  I  am  not  well,  and  pre- 
fer my  wife's  society  unadulterated." 

"Tell  me — what — why  did  you  marry  me, 
George?" 

For  the  first  time,  as  she  spoke,  he  saw  her 
face  destitute  of  benevolence.  She  also,  for  once, 
had  been  racked  into  an  uncontrollable  exclama- 
tion. Her  voice  passed  slowly  into  the  sombre 
room,  like  a  heavy  substance. 

Spenser  could  not  endure  scenes,  even  with  El- 
lice.  From  Gillette  they  were  intolerable.  All 
the  cruelty  of  his  nature  was  uppermost  at  the 
moment.  Ellice's  letter  dislodged  the  very  dregs 
of  his  bitterness. 

"What  did  I  marry  you  for?"  he  answered,  with 
a  sinister  lightness.  "For  love,  of  course.  A  fact 
so  obvious  should  be  beyond  the  region  of  ques- 
tion." 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  155 

"You  married  me  only  for  my  money.  I  am 
hateful  to  you.  Oh,  God,  help  me!" 

She  seemed  about  to  faint,  but  as  she  swayed 
over  the  tea-tray,  he  caught  her  and  pushed  her 
back  on  to  the  settee.  Her  hands  were  like  ice. 
He  slapped  them  to  restore  circulation,  half  hop- 
ing that  he  hurt  her.  She  was  only  a  second  or 
two,  however,  before  she  withdrew  them  and 
opened  her  eyes.  He  then  pushed  the  tea-table 
to  one  side.  Next  time,  he  thought,  she  would 
probably  flop  right  on  to  it. 

Gillette,  meanwhile,  sat  with  her  hands  clasped, 
and  at  the  sight  he  hazarded  a  flippant  query 
whether  the  prayer,  obviously  being  uttered,  was 
for  himself  or  her.  As  she  did  not  speak,  he  went 
and  poked  the  fire,  determined  not  to  be  the  first 
to  continue  an  absurd  discussion.  At  that  she 
made  another  attempt  to  get  up.  Spenser  al- 
most groaned,  wondering  why  on  earth  women 
always  insist  on  standing  to  make  a  scene. 

Gillette,  however,  after  an  effort  to  rise,  sank 
back  again  against  the  settee.  Her  attitude  ex- 
pressed immeasurable  weariness:  her  arms  hung 
each  side  of  her,  and  her  hands  lay  feebly  on  the 
seat. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said  at  last,  "if  I  hurt  you 
by  forcing  a  sincere  attitude  between  us.  I — think 
— I  was  wrong." 

For  the  life  of  him  Spenser  was  unable  to  re- 
ply. As  usual,  he  considered  her  conduct  ridicu- 
lous, but  at  the  same  time  no  longer  experienced 
anger.  She  looked  too  crushed  for  it,  poor 
soul! 


156  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

"Oh,  but  the  awfulness  of  it!"  broke  suddenly 
in  a  whisper  from  the  girl's  dry  lips. 

Spenser  noticed  that  they  were  slightly  cracked, 
and  felt  that  if  he  were  paid  a  thousand  pounds 
to  do  so  he  could  not  kiss  her  that  afternoon. 

"You  do  not  understand,"  continued  Gillette, 
hah"  inaudibly,  pressing  her  two  hands  nervously 
together,  while  her  head  slowly  drooped  forward. 
"You  dislike  me — and — you  must  know — lam " 

She  stopped,  and  in  her  painful  silence  implored 
him  to  help  her  timidity.  Spenser  glanced  sharply 
at  her.  A  thunderbolt  fallen  at  his  feet  could  not 
have  affected  him  more.  It  was  impossible  to 
misunderstand  the  communication. 

"Good  God!"  he  said  slowly;  and  neither  of 
them  moved  or  spoke  for  several  minutes.  "How 
long  have  you  been  like  this?" 

Gillette's  head  sank  still  lower.  She  did  not 
attempt  to  look  at  him. 

"I  think  six  months." 

"Have  you  seen  a  doctor?" 

"No." 

"You  had  better  have  Dr.  Priestley  at  once." 

Once  more  they  were  silent.  Like  Spenser,  the 
woman  seemed  hypnotized  by  the  situation.  She 
had  felt  ill  for  many  days,  and  the  shock  of  Spen- 
ser's tacit  confession  that  he  had  merely  married 
her  for  her  money  seemed  to  have  set  up  physical 
consequences.  Her  heart  pained  her  as  if  it  had 
been  torn  sideways.  She  felt  the  nerves  strained 
to  snapping-point ;  and  over  all  her  body  her 
clothes  seemed  pressing  extraordinarily,  choking 
her,  and  endangering  the  life  she  was  to  bring 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  157 

forth.  She  yearned  to  tear  them  apart  and 
breathe  freely. 

Along  with  physical  misery  ran  a  thousand 
mental  ones.  She  believed  herself  to  have  failed, 
not  only  in  kindness  and  forbearance,  but  in  her 
call  as  a  woman  to  be  above  all,  and  invariably, 
a  comforter,  a  gentle  smoother  of  the  rough  edges 
of  life.  Seldom,  indeed,  had  she  felt  so  forlorn, 
so  sunk  in  spiritual  darkness,  so  hemmed  in  by 
purely  physical  pains  and  earthly  troubles. 

Spenser,  meanwhile,  standing  motionless  with 
his  back  to  the  fireplace,  went  through  a  wholly 
opposite  experience.  This  final  catastrophe  cleared 
instead  of  stupefying  his  brain.  His  previous 
torpor  gave  way  to  a  brusque  inflow  of  ideas 
and  sensations.  Unadulterated  disgust  first  at- 
tacked him.  Nothing  could  well  be  more  repel- 
lent to  him  than  to  have  the  ties  of  his  mar- 
riage strengthened,  as  it  were,  by  fatherhood. 
Every  germinal  hope  for  the  future  dispersed 
under  it.  The  desertion  of  a  wife  was  bad 
enough,  but  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  it  would 
be  rendered  immeasurably  more  heinous  by  en- 
tailing also  the  desertion  of  a  child,  supposed 
to  have  a  supreme  call  upon  him  as  responsible 
for  its  existence.  He  recoiled  then  at  the  frank, 
ness  of  his  thoughts.  Bah!  he  had  no  intention 
of  deserting  Gillette.  He  had  married  with  his 
eyes  open,  and  must  abide  by  the  consequences. 
But  immediately  and  instinctively  his  thoughts 
turned  back  again  to  see  how  this  new  develop- 
ment of  affairs  would  affect  Ellice.  He  measured 
slowly  first  what  measure  of  influence  he  could 


158  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

reckon  himself  to  possess  over  her.  Everything 
in  the  future  depended  on  that.  The  nerves  of 
his  head  throbbed  with  the  pressure  put  upon 
them  by  his  mental  investigation,  and  his  brain 
congested  with  the  disordered  mass  of  memories 
fished  up,  one  after  another,  from  under  recent 
overlayings. 

Finally  he  drew  a  sharp  breath,  and  pulled  his 
body  together.  The  room  was  dark ;  therefore  it 
must  be  quite  four  o'clock.  Well,  to  Ellice  this 
baby  could  not  make  much  difference.  For  she 
loved  him ;  of  that  fact  he  was  now  certain.  There- 
fore, inevitably,  like  himself,  she  must  sooner  or 
later  grow  famished  for  a  full  abandonment  to 
the  impulses  of  love.  It  was  a  nature  all  tender- 
ness and  little  gracious  weaknesses.  Besides,  the 
immensity  of  his  own  desire  gave  him  a  sense 
of  being  freshly  irresistible.  No  woman  could 
stand  against  a  force  of  feeling  such  as  he  would 
immerse  Ellice  in,  allied  as  it  was  with  the  pas- 
sion, the  cunning,  the  matured  experience,  of  a 
man  past  forty.  After  all,  she  remained  even 
now  little  more  than  a  girl — a  little  creature  he 
himself  had  moulded  at  the  impressionable  age 
of  her  life. 

He  glanced  at  Gillette  again.  The  cumbersome 
appearance  of  her  figure  suddenly  held  his  atten- 
tion. He  became  fascinated  by  it.  What  a  shape- 
less lump  she  looked,  sitting  with  her  head  down, 
like  a  fat  peasant  beaten  with  fatigue.  Then  he 
•wondered  with  an  abrupt  sense  of  pity,  if  she 
suffered.  And  she  would  get  worse.  The  agony 
inevitably  in  front  of  her  brusquely  preoccupied 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  159 

him,  and  quite  genuinely  he  felt  disgusted  with 
his  own  personality.  Ellice  was  too  good  for 
such  unredeemed  rascality.  A  rapid  desire  for  her 
sake  to  get  out  of  the  mud,  risen  like  stench  to 
his  nostrils,  followed.  One  could  sink  too  low 
even  to  have  pleasure  in  the  very  thing  one  had 
sinned  for. 

It  occurred  to  him  then  that  he  must  speak  to 
Gillette,  try  to  make  her  believe  in  his  sympathy, 
and  show  at  least  some  decent  feeling  as  regards 
this  affair. 

"Child,  I  was  a  beast  to  you  this  afternoon. 
Will  you  forgive  me?  I  had  not  the  faintest  idea 
of  this,  and  did  not  mean  in  the  least  what  you 
believe.  I  was  damnably  out  of  temper — that 
was  all." 

Gillette's  hands  moved  uneasily. 

"Please  don't,"  she  answered,  without  lifting 
her  head. 

Spenser  began  to  wonder  how  best  to  put  an 
immediate  and  friendly  end  to  the  situation.  He 
wanted  to  get  away  as  soon  as  possible,  but  he 
also  wanted  to  see  her  sit  up  with  a  little  more 
life  hi  her  first.  Even  his  conscience  refused  to 
be  haunted  by  her  in  that  spiritless,  beaten  atti- 
tude, alone  with  her  undiscardable  burden,  and 
with  the  rain  hammering  in  the  silence  against 
her  window.  He  must  at  least  associate  himself 
with  her  in  this  circumstance,  give  her  consola- 
tion enough  to  retake  courage.  With  an  effort 
he  crossed  over  and  sat  beside  her.  WTiether  he 
made  her  a  little  happier  or  not  could  not  change 
his  own  dejection,  and  sympathy  must  signify 


160  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

considerably  to  a  woman  with  her  prospects  to 
front.  He  put  an  arm  round  her  shoulder  and 
pulled  one  inert  hand  on  to  his  knee.  Gillette 
commenced  to  shiver  spasmodically,  and  fright- 
ened him  beyond  expression. 

"Dear,  do  you  feel  so  ill?  My  poor  Gillette! 
why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?  I  believe  you  are 
in  pain." 

"No,  no,"  came  from  the  lowered  head.  "I 
am  only  a  little  hysterical  at  this  moment.  I " 

"We  must  have  the  doctor  to-night.  No,  I  in- 
sist. Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  let  you  run 
the  slightest  risk?  Dearest,  I  am  a  brute,  but 
your  news  has  deeply  moved  me.  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  am  pleased  or  not;  I  cannot  get  be- 
yond the  wretchedness  of  it  for  you.  But  I  shall 
have  to  take  great  care  of  the  wife  just  now, 
and  spoil  her  if  I  can.  Poor  little  one!  I  wish 
most  of  all  I  could  prevent  you  suffering." 

He  was  quite  inclined  to  believe  his  own  state- 
ments, so  much  did  her  immobility  upset  him. 
For  a  moment  after  his  speech  she  continued 
silent;  then  slowly,  with  a  deep  sigh,  she  raised 
her  head. 

"When  you  speak  to  me  like  this  I  can — scarcely 
bear — the  comfort — of  it,"  she  answered  shakily. 

At  the  sight  of  her  face  raised  to  him  for  the 
first  time  during  the  interview,  Spenser  almost 
started  with  surprise.  In  its  drawn  whiteness 
it  might  have  been  that  of  a  person  newly  dead. 
All  his  repulsion  dropped  at  the  sight ;  the  appeal 
to  pity  was  irresistible.  He  felt,  even,  that  he 
might  find  a  certain  pleasure  in  occupying  the 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  161 

time  until  May  in  little  kindly  attentions  to  her. 
Drawing  her  against  him,  he  commenced  to  whis- 
per in  her  ear  tender  lies  he  felt  would  have  ap- 
palled him  uttered  louder.  And  when  at  last, 
conquered,  Gillette  drew  herself  up  to  him  like  a 
child  seeking  shelter,  and  burst  into  tears,  he  was 
actually  relieved  at  the  torrent.  The  pain  that 
had  been  like  an  exhalation  from  her  in  the  pre- 
vious attitude  had  filled  the  room  with  something 
so  oppressive,  so  inhuman,  so  out  of  all  bearable 
limits,  that  Spenser  had  felt  at  last  as  if  chilled 
to  the  very  marrow  of  his  bones. 
11 


CHAPTER  XV 

Dr.  Priestley,  who  came  the  following  morn- 
ing, found  the  patient  unnaturally  weak,  and 
expressed  himself,  besides,  as  not  entirely  satis- 
fied with  certain  symptoms  shown.  To  Spenser's 
surprise,  he  remarked  that  his  wife  could  not  be 
by  any  means  a  strong  woman.  For  a  time  at 
least,  consequently,  it  was  imperative  that  she 
should  lie  up;  a  little  gentle  driving,  or,  better 
still,  a  daily  bath-chair  ride,  was  the  extent  of 
the  exercise  he  could  permit.  Every  precaution 
must  be  taken  to  prevent  an  excess  of  fatigue. 
He  should  call  and  see  her  again  shortly. 

This  information  increased  Spenser's  growing 
bewilderment.  Already,  since  the  previous  after- 
noon, he  had  been  possessed  by  a  feeling  that 
nothing  retained  its  normal  aspect.  The  very 
house  might  have  been  new,  so  extraordinarily 
did  his  approaching  paternity  appear  to  alter 
the  very  furniture.  He  looked  at  the  color  of  a 
wall-paper  or  a  chair,  and  found  it  unlike  what 
he  had  supposed.  It  might  have  been  seen  for 
the  first  time,  so  significant  did  it  suddenly  ap- 
pear to  him. 

After  lunch,  to  his  unutterable  relief,  Sidney 
Crawford  arrived.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
Spenser  felt  an  intense  desire  to  confide  in  some- 
body. Why  this,  of  all  things,  he  could  not 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  163 

imagine,  except  that  by  so  doing  he  might  per- 
haps get  the  incident  back  into  perspective.  As 
it  was,  it  overtopped  the  entire  fabric  of  exist- 
ence. The  two  men  had  not  been  together  five 
minutes,  therefore,  before  he  told  Crawford  the 
new  state  of  affairs. 

Crawford,  who  was  filling  his  pipe,  replied  that 
he  was  already  aware  of  Mrs.  Spenser's  condi- 
tion, and  could  not  understand  how  the  other 
had  escaped  seeing  the  growing  look  of  delicacy 
her  face  had  worn  for  some  weeks  past. 

The  two  men  sat  together  most  of  the  after- 
noon, fitfully  discussing  women  and  their  dis- 
tinct vocation.  Crawford  had  come  over  to  play 
billiards,  but  they  sat  on  by  the  fire,  languid 
with  the  indolence  of  a  warm  room  in  winter. 
At  last  Crawford  asked  where  Mrs.  Spenser  was, 
and  proposed  that  they  should  go  and  keep  her 
company,  it  being  the  time  of  day  when  she  would 
be  most  likely  to  suffer  depression,  and  fall  a  prey 
to  the  many  fears  women  were  apt  to  endure  at 
such  periods. 

They  found  Gillette  in  a  loose  black  gown,  lying 
on  the  settee.  Crawford  had  only  once  seen  her 
idle  before.  Now  she  lay  inert,  as  if  her  head  and 
shoulders  were  kept  by  a  heavy  weight  to  the 
sofa,  while  her  hands,  at  one  time  so  red,  were 
quite  white  against  the  shapeless  black  of  her 
gown. 

Spenser  did  not  stay  with  them  long.  His 
restlessness  soon  grew  out  of  bounds  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  wife,  and  the  fact  that  her  person 
now  reiterated  every  time  he  turned  in  her  direc- 


164  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

tion  increased  disturbance.  He  had  no  sooner 
gone  than  Crawford  inquired  if  Mrs.  Spenser  did 
not  care  to  read,  and  so  while  away  the  tedious 
slowness  of  the  hours :  her  unprecedented  idleness 
had  to  him  something  so  pathetic. 

Gillette  replied  that  for  the  most  part  she  felt 
too  weary  to  follow  the  lines.  At  her  answer  a 
sudden  idea  entered  Crawford's  head.  Suppose 
he  were  to  offer  to  read  to  her?  Would  it  give 
him  pleasure?  Yes;  to  do  something  for  this 
woman  would  yield  a  real  sense  of  satisfaction, 
and  her  gratitude  would  be  more  than  repay, 
ment.  He  did  not  want  to  fall  in  love  any  more. 
It  was  too  expensive,  too  wearisome,  too  bind- 
ing and  too  disillusionizing.  To  soil  even  the 
very  beginning,  moreover,  there  was  always  the 
knowledge  of  the  inevitable  rupture  at  the  end. 
But  to  be  a  brother  or  friend  to  some  woman 
one  had  just  tenderness  enough  for  to  be  glad 
to  serve,  and  not  enough  to  stay  awake  over, 
would  ameliorate  the  barren  selfishness  of  his 
existence. 

In  a  rush  of  excitement,  therefore,  he  proposed 
with  her  consent,  to  come  and  read  out  loud 
sometimes  while  she  continued  to  be  confined  to 
the  sofa.  She  had  admitted  latterly  not  having 
read  Robert  Louis  Stevenson's  books.  He  sug- 
gested that  it  would  be  an  extreme  pleasure  to 
read  them  to  her,  and  to  discuss  them  together 
afterward. 

As  usual,  Crawford's  enthusiasm  carried  him 
unexpected  distances.  Gillette  was  the  last  per- 
son from  whom  he  had  any  reason  to  expect 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  165 

charming  discussions.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
his  proposal  terrified  her  inordinately,  though 
she  could  not  but  feel  touched  by  the  kindness  of 
the  proposal.  She  thanked  him,  therefore,  admit- 
ting a  desire  to  read  some  of  Louis  Stevenson's 
•writings. 

Crawford,  always  heart  and  soul  in  the  idea  of 
the  moment,  suggested  then  and  there  making  a 
list  of  books,  and  when  Spenser  returned  subse- 
quently he  found  them  peacefully  occupied  in  ar- 
ranging the  order  in  which  the  volumes  chosen 
should  be  read. 

The  inclination  of  the  latter  was  to  sneer. 
Really,  Crawford's  warm-heartedness  resulted  in 
as  much  folly  as  his  less  desirable  qualities.  To 
read  to  some  women,  well  and  good.  Nobody, 
for  instance,  was  more  charming  to  read  aloud 
to  than  Ellice.  But  Gillette!  Why,  she  would 
probably  utter  an  endless  prayer  during  its  con- 
tinuance to  avoid  hearing  any  godless  passage. 
Friend  Crawford,  with  his  exaggerated  benevo- 
lence, was  making  a  fool  of  himself. 

Nevertheless,  the  readings  commenced  next  day, 
and  continued  with  rare  exceptions  for  the  next 
six  weeks.  To  Gillette  they  became  an  invalu- 
able recreation.  Crawford  read  well,  and  was 
consistently  careful  in  the  kind  of  literature  he 
brought  before  her  notice.  He  arrived  usually 
at  four  or  half-past,  just  after  the  lamp,  covered 
with  a  red  shade,  had  been  brought  into  the  room, 
The  light,  placed  conveniently  for  the  reader,  left 
Gillette  in  shadow.  Crawford  saw  her  only  as 
a  black  mass,  with  white  hands  and  indistinct 


166  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

features  that  borrowed  an  illusive  beauty  in  the 
gloom.  If  he  perceived  anything  clearly,  it  was 
her  eyes,  her  great  benevolent  eyes,  full  of  holi- 
ness and  peace.  In  the  end,  moreover,  Crawford 
felt  as  if  the  grace  of  her  mind  acted  physically 
upon  her  body,  making  her,  as  she  lay  there  help- 
less in  her  black  draperies,  an  actually  fascinating 
and  attractive  woman.  One  incontestable  beauty, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  besides  her  eyes,  he  did  dis- 
cover in  her  at  this  time,  for  Gillette  suffered  in- 
creasingly from  a  nervous  sense  of  oppression  in 
her  clothes.  Nothing  seemed  loose  enough  for 
her,  and  her  throat  choked  in  the  compression 
of  her  neck-bands.  Finally  she  discarded  all  cov- 
ering for  the  throat  at  all.  Her  black  tea-gowns 
were  finished  off  either  by  collarettes  of  real  lace 
or  a  black  chiffon  fichu  trailing  to  the  feet,  both 
of  which  left  the  neck  exposed.  Never  before  had 
Crawford  seen  a  woman's  throat  more  beautiful, 
more  absolutely  milk-white.  Against  the  black 
of  her  robe  it  became  dazzling,  while  the  little 
hollow  below  drew  him  with  a  direct  appeal  he 
would  have  thought  it  previously  impossible  for 
this  woman  to  exercise. 

Every  day  these  readings  became  more  con- 
genial to  him.  To  know  Gillette,  as  Ellice  had 
once  said  to  Spenser,  was  to  obtain  many  pleas- 
ant surprises.  Crawford  she  amused  incessantly 
by  the  nai've  originality  of  her  mind,  so  little 
having  been  acquired  from  the  conventions  or 
from  literature,  that  her  thoughts  had  the  fresh- 
ness of  things  springing  newly  out  of  fragrant 
soil.  It  was  his  own  impulsive  manner,  his  many 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  167 

confessions  and  intimate  exposures,  which  gained 
for  him  a  certain  return  of  frankness.  Where  so 
much  was  freely  uttered,  the  mind  took  courage 
to  yield  at  least  some  measure  of  response.  Craw- 
ford's quick  intuition,  besides  his  deep  if  transient 
sympathy,  and  his  acute  divination  of  half-uttered 
thoughts,  drew  his  companion  at  last  into  com- 
plete unconstraint.  To  Crawford,  in  a  few  weeks, 
as  to  Ellice,  Gillette  spoke  as  she  thought,  with- 
out fear  or  reserve,  and  so  beautiful  were  some 
of  the  fancies  Crawford  acquired  insight  into, 
that  he  felt  frequently  as  if  his  afternoons  with 
her  were  a  spiritual  purification.  He  came  away 
from  them  with  a  sense  of  having  washed  recently 
in  clean  spring  waters,  or  of  having  been  long  in 
some  sweet-smelling,  quiet  country,  where  the  birds 
had  sung  and  the  breeze  had  been  pure  and  restoring. 

She  was  very  ill  during  this  period,  and  anxiety 
intensified  the  place  she  commenced  to  occupy  in 
his  thoughts  and  life.  On  a  second  examination, 
Dr.  Priestley  expressed  himself  no  better  satisfied, 
and  the  three  months  of  delicacy  still  to  run  could 
not  but  be  serious  ones  to  all  those  constantly 
about  her.  Spenser  himself  came  to  treat  her  at 
last  with  actual  tenderness  and  consideration. 
The  possibility  of  an  awful  death  was  a  horror 
that  even  his  callousness  found  unendurable. 

A  London  specialist  had  been  called  in,  and 
expressed  fear  of  a  difficult  and  dangerous  ac- 
couchement. It  was  doubtful  whether  one  could 
hope  for  an  instant  to  save  the  child  without 
sacrificing  the  mother.  Crawford,  when  informed 
of  the  specialist's  opinion,  retired  and  cried  like 


168  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

a  child  in  the  garden.  He  knew  that  she  wor- 
shipped children,  He  saw  in  her  eyes,  he  heard 
in  her  voice  already,  the  joy  and  wonder  of  moth- 
erhood. To  deny  her  that  after  her  bitter  agony, 
how  cruel  it  seemed !  And  she  herself  might  not 
recover !  The  fear  was  like  great  -wastes  of  livid 
ice  gathered  round  his  imagination.  He  could 
not  conceive  himself  now  without  her  gentle, 
wise,  impracticable  teachings. 

He  returned  to  the  house  with  his  fat,  good- 
humored  face  grotesque  through  its  incongruous 
look  of  misery.  Spenser  was  walking  up  and 
down.  He  explained  the  arrangements  made  by 
the  specialist,  into  whose  hands  the  case  had  now 
been  given.  Crawford  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 
The  man  could  not  have  a  reputation  for  nothing ; 
it  must  be  through  his  dexterity  in  cases  such  as 
Gillette's.  He  would  pull  her  through  safe  enough? 
and  at  the  thought  a  load  of  misery  seemed 
drawn  from  off  his  person. 

Spenser,  meanwhile,  felt  his  passion  for  Ellice 
strangely  subdued  by  the  unexpected  danger  hang- 
ing about  the  house.  This  latter  bewildered  him 
as  an  incredible  idea ;  but  he  knew  that  he  shrank 
back  horrified  at  any  possibility  of  freedom 
through  Gillette's  death.  No  adoring  husband 
could  feel  more  spontaneity  in  the  desire  to  save 
her  at  any  cost.  And  thank  God!  he  exclaimed 
to  himself  once,  that  he  was  still,  in  such  a  crisis^ 
able  to  feel  so.  Indeed,  for  a  time,  the  new  turn 
of  events  cooled  his  feelings  for  Ellice  to  little 
more  than  a  vague  regret.  Meanwhile,  he  had 
spoken  to  Gillette  upon  the  subject  of  her  mother's 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  169 

visit,  stating  that  under  the  present  circumstancs 
he  earnestly  desired  her  presence. 

His  manner  was  so  inexplicably  gentle  that 
Gillette  became  convinced  no  hopes  were  enter- 
tained of  her  recovery.  Quietly  and  bravely  from 
that  day  forward  she  prepared  to  meet  her  God. 
Once  or  twice  at  the  thought  of  death  her  soul 
was  wrung  with  natural  terrors,  but  for  the  most 
part  it  continued  still  and  unbuffeted.  It  cost  a 
slight  effort,  also  willingly,  to  lay  down  the  hap- 
piness of  motherhood.  But  that  done,  it  grew 
every  day  sweeter  to  anticipate  the  time  when 
she  would  serve  Christ  aided  by  heavenly  vision 
and  insight.  Here,  through  her  ignorance  and 
weakness,  she  so  often  knew  not  even  the  action 
that  was  good. 

Sometimes  she  longed  for  Ellice.  In  her  grow- 
ing  physical  inability  she  occasionally  experienced 
the  need  of  uttering  little  wistful  thoughts  that 
seemed  to  gain  in  force  by  being  withheld  from 
utterance.  Her  mother,  too,  she  would  gladly 
have  had  about  her ;  but  she  put  off  day  by  day 
sending  the  permitted  invitation.  The  memory 
of  Spenser's  face  and  manner  at  his  original  re- 
fusal remained  too  vividly  in  her  imagination; 
and  her  first  duty  lay  in  striving  for  his  happiness. 

At  last  Spenser,  guessing  the  reasons  which 
actuated  her  procrastination,  wrote  to  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair himself,  begging  her  to  come  at  once  to  her 
daughter.  The  same  afternoon  he  asked  Gillette 
if  she  had  told  Miss  Bastien  how  unwell  she  was. 
Surely,  under  the  circumstances,  the  latter  would 
like  to  keep  her  company.  Gillette,  however,  had 


170  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

not  written.  She  seemed  to  have  a  delicate  prud- 
ery even  toward  another  woman,  and  Spenser 
discovered  that  Ellice  had  actually  no  idea  of 
Gillette's  condition.  He  tried  to  persuade  her 
then  and  there  to  beg  the  other  to  come  on  a 
visit.  Gillette  grew  red  and  distressed.  It  might 
spoil  Ellice' s  holiday ;  she  would  rather  leave  mat- 
ters. The  discussion  excited  her,  and  Spenser, 
whose  ignorance  concerning  such  indispositions 
as  Gillette's  perpetually  caused  him  unnecessary 
alarms,  stopped  abruptly  for  fear  of  producing 
one  of  the  heart  attacks  she  was  latterly  liable  to. 
But  the  proposal  haunted  him.  The  idea  had 
arisen  brusquely  as  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Sinclair. 
Only  once  conceived,  he  could  not  shake  it  off. 
He  reiterated  to  himself  its  perfect  harmlessness. 
There  was  no  question  even  of  making  love  to 
Ellice  while  this  other  woman  continued  ill  and 
in  danger.  But  her  presence  in  the  house  would 
lighten  its  heaviness  for  them  all.  Gillette  could 
not  but  be  gladdened  by  it,  and  he  himself  was 
in  almost  equal  need  of  some  sympathetic  com- 
panion. When  Gillette  was  in  bed,  or  asleep,  or 
•with  her  mother,  for  instance,  how  comfortable 
to  sit  and  tell  his  terrors  to  Ellice,  or  harmlessly 
refresh  an  overwrought  brain  by  a  little  laughter 
and  triviality !  He  would  not  kiss  her ;  she  should 
be  as  safe  as  when  the  waters  parted  them ;  but, 
oh !  the  unutterable  repose  of  knowing  her  therej 
in  the  house,  of  seeing  her  at  all  hours  of  the 
day,  watching  her,  remembering  her.  Half  the 
nightmares  of  his  life  would  slink  out  of  sight 
at  the  first  vision  of  her  presence. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  171 

How  could  he  compass  her  visit?  The  least  hint 
of  the  doctor's  fears  would,  he  knew,  be  sufficient 
to  bring  her.  Could  he  write  himself,  and  tell 
the  state  of  affairs?  Gillette  would  only  see  in 
his  letter  a  touching  solicitude  for  her  happiness, 
for  nothing  but  the  incontestable  evidence  of  her 
own  eyes  could  stir  an  evil  suspicion  in  a  breast 
so  pure.  For  two  days  he  hesitated.  Then  Mrs. 
Sinclair  arrived  with  a  torrential  quantity  of  lug- 
gage. He  saw  it  in  the  hall,  and  felt  it  a  sign 
of  perpetuity:  Mrs.  Sinclair  would  stay  forever. 
Still,  he  received  her  graciously,  and  even  sus- 
tained a  tete-a-tete  dinner  with  a  show  of  friend- 
liness. But  she  struck  him  all  the  time  as  more 
grotesque,  more  vulgar,  more  glaring,  than  ever. 
When  finally,  with  tears  forming  a  thick  paste 
with  the  powder  on  her  cheeks,  she  left,  to  go  and 
sit  with  Gillette,  he  felt  that  to  endure  her  una- 
dulterated would  drive  him  absolutely  mad. 

That  evening  he  wrote  to  Ellice.  He  addressed 
her  as  'Dear  friend,"  and  plunged  immediately 
into  a  statement  of  affairs.  Gillette  was  not  well, 
and  there  were  internal  complications  which  made 
a  natural  illness  wear  a  very  grave  aspect. 

Dr.  D would  attend  when  telegraphed  for; 

but  it  was  an  anxious  time.  Gillette  had  no 
idea  of  anything  abnormal,  but  she  had  be- 
come, of  course,  much  more  ailing  than  most 
women,  and  suffered  also  mentally  a  good  deal, 
he  thought,  from  the  long-enforced  idleness.  He 
also  believed  that  she  fretted  inwardly  to  see 
Ellice.  Her  disappointment  had  been  intense 
when  she  learned  the  news  of  her  friend's  delay 


172  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

in  returning  to  England,  and  for  several  days 
afterward  she  had  appeared  very  quiet  and  de- 
spondent. Mrs.  Sinclair  was  with  them  now, 
but  Spenser  considered  that  she  worried  her 
daughter  incessantly  by  injudicious  conversation. 
Would  she — Ellice — be  likely  to  return  to  England 
within  the  next  six  weeks?  If  so,  would  she  come 
and  help  to  ease  Gillette's  weary  days  a  little? 
It  would  be  an  unspeakable  comfort  and  delight 
to  the  poor  invalid,  and  take  a  weight  off  his 
own  mind  also,  for  he  felt  incessantly  that  she 
had  no  one  at  the  moment  she  could  speak  freely 
to  about  herself.  A  woman  was  often  too  shy 
upon  these  occasions  to  be  quite  frank  even  with 
her  own  husband,  and  he  was  quite  certain  that 
Gillette  must  often  desire  to  utter  the  little  con- 
fidences only  possible  to  a  member  of  her  own 
sex. 

There  was  nothing  else  in  the  letter.  Spenser 
read  it  through,  sneeringly  amused  at  the  devoted 
husband  suggested  by  it.  Five  days  later  came 
the  answer.  It  was  brief  enough.  She  wrote : 

"DEAR  FRIEND: — Thank  you  for  your  kindness 
in  letting  me  know  of  Gillette's  illness.  I  had  no 
idea  of  it.  If  you  will  both  have  me,  I  leave 
here  to-morrow,  and  will  come  straight  to  Rook 
House  to  take  care  of  my  poor  Gillette  as  long 
as  she  will  let  me.  What  you  say  has  troubled 
me  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  We  cannot,  any  of 
us,  do  too  much  for  her  now. 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"ELLICE  BASTEEN." 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  173 

Spenser  felt  delirious  as  he  read.  For  the  cold- 
ness of  her  letter  he  did  not  care  a  button.  She 
was  coming!  The  very  house  seemed  on  the  in- 
stant holding  its  breath.  He  went  immediately 
to  Gillette's  boudoir.  Mrs.  Sinclair,  in  a  break- 
fast-gown smothered  in  soiled  lace  and  dirty  rib- 
bons, was  examining  a  sea  of  delicate  infant 
robes  just  arrived  by  post.  Gillette  was  bend- 
ing over  a  closely  filled  letter  from  Ellice.  Just 
for  a  second  at  the  sight  Spenser's  heart  beat 
hard  with  sudden  terror.  What  if  she  saw  any- 
thing suspicious  in  his  correspondence?  But  the 
moment  she  perceived  him  she  put  out  her  hand 
with  a  smile  of  gratitude. 

"Well,  little  one,"  he  said,  taking  the  cold  fin- 
gers extended  to  him,  and  trying  to  keep  his 
voice  from  betraying  agitation. 

"Dear,  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you.  There 
is  nothing  you  could  have  done  sweeter  to  me. 
Ellice  is  coming!" 

"Yes,  she  is  coming."  The  repetition  came  from 
him  almost  unconsciously.  Her  innocent  grati- 
tude calmed  him  like  an  opiate.  He  kissed  her, 
and  sat  for  a  time  stroking  the  back  of  her  hand. 
Then  he  turned  away,  wondering  whether  his 
present  monstrous  pretences  in  behavior  were 
not  as  great  a  cruelty  as  his  previous  candor. 
Well,  well,  he  reflected,  for  the  time  being,  it  was 
the  only  possible  conduct,  and  the  future  lay 
sheathed  and  invisible.  Then  wildly,  like  a  tri- 
umphant populace  surging  through  a  town,  there 
rushed  over  him  a  vivid  consciousness  that  the 
nothingness  of  the  winter  was  over.  The  woman 


174  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

he  worshipped,  the  woman  who  created  madness 
in  his  veins,  and  a  longing  like  a  veritable  sick- 
ness of  constitution,  was  at  last  to  confront  his 
influence  once  more. 

Destiny  would  decide  what  the  future  should 
bring  forth. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Three  days  later  Ellice  arrived.  Spenser  met 
her  at  the  station.  Emotion  was  apparently  ex- 
hausted. As  he  drove  from  the  house  he  had 
never  felt  more  calm,  more  indifferent.  He  com- 
pared himself  to  a  sea  not  a  breeze  stirs.  At 
the  station  he  bought  a  paper,  and  glanced  over 
it  until  the  train  crawled  alongside  the  platform. 
Then  for  a  second  he  felt  the  air  grow  hot  about 
him,  and  all  his  flesh  become  articulate.  A  mo- 
ment later  the  carriage  doors  were  opened,  and 
almost  in  front  of  where  he  stood  Ellice  Bastien 
stepped  out. 

She  came  toward  him  dressed  in  black,  with  a 
white  tulle  bow  under  her  chin.  He  stared  at 
her  as  if  a  stranger,  and,  in  fact,  for  the  space 
of  a  second  she  seemed  to  him  a  stranger.  In 
his  mind's  eye  he  had  called  her  up  all  the  winter 
as  she  was  in  their  tenderest  passages,  eyes  and 
mouth  alive,  eager  as  a  lover's  whisper.  Her 
eyes  especially  he  had  grown  to  conceive  as  al- 
ways dark,  with  the  pupils  enlarged  and  shining. 
This  woman  stepping  on  to  the  platform  was  an 
elegant  fair-haired  creature,  very  smart,  very 
pretty,  but  a  little  cold  in  expression.  Her  ap- 
pearance staggered  him  as  a  violent  blow  might 
have  done.  This  was  not  a  woman  to  sacrifice 
her  reputation  to  any  man.  Her  heart  was  like 


176  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

a  cool  crystal  in  her  breast.  One  had  only  to 
look  at  her  serene,  warm  pallor,  her  passionless 
lips,  to  feel  the  impossibility  of  infusing  a  des- 
perate ardor.  Spenser  felt  himself  in  the  brief 
space  of  their  mutual  advance  collapse  like  an 
air-bubble.  His  very  clothes  seemed  suddenly  to 
hang  looser  upon  him.  All  aim  and  all  zest  in 
life  were  fleeing.  The  stranger  he  walked  to  greet 
•was  the  very  last  woman  in  creation  to  yield  to 
a  trouble  of  heart. 

"How  is  she?  Your  letter  has  alarmed  me  un- 
speakably." 

Ah,  it  was  the  old  rich,  inimitable  voice;  it 
ran  through  the  man's  veins  like  a  hot  liquid. 
She  showed  a  little  glimmering  of  white  teeth  as 
she  spoke,  and  a  hammering  commenced  in  Spen- 
ser's temples.  He  answered  mechanically  that 
Gillette  was  pretty  well,  and  feverish  for  her 
arrival.  They  got  into  the  carriage  and  sat  side 
by  side,  Ellice  still  asking  questions  of  her  friend. 
Spenser  felt  stifled.  The  faint  scent  of  violets 
clung,  as  always,  to  his  companion's  clothes,  and 
as  he  drew  it  into  his  nostrils  a  rushing  crowd 
of  memories  assailed  him.  To  sit  together  in  this 
narrow,  secluded  space  and  behave  as  strangers  be- 
came appalling.  When  had  they  ever  driven  before 
without  their  hands  joining,  without  lips  touch- 
ing incessantly?  Should  he  seize  her  face  in  his 
hands  now  and  by  force  subdue  her  into  natural- 
ness? But  was  she  feeling  anything  at  all?  Had 
she  no  memory,  even,  this  woman?  In  the  few- 
past  months  he  had  aged  by  many  years.  She 
came  back  to  him  with  the  same  smiling  face, 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  177 

empty,  he  told  himself  bitterly — empty  of  every- 
thing but  emotionless  beauty.  If  there  had  been 
but  one  line  telling  of  a  wearing  heart-sickness, 
great  God!  how  he  would  have  worshipped  it! 
But  she  sat  beside  him  easy,  undisturbed,  talk- 
ing pleasantly  to  a  man  who  was  her  friend's 
husband,  nothing  more.  His  head  swam;  he 
answered  her  more  and  more  briefly.  Should  he 
seize  hold  of  her  as  he  desired  from  the  beginning? 
Women  expected  a  show  of  force;  it  was  their 
stupid  salve  to  conscience.  They  could  protest 
afterward  to  have  been  resistless  in  the  clutches 
of  brute  force.  In  this  case  he  felt  it  would  be 
either  a  stroke  of  genius  or  insanity.  At  last 
Ellice  lapsed  into  silence.  She  sat  looking  quiet 
and  at  ease,  as  if  not  a  breath  of  feeling  rippled 
the  tranquillity  of  her  soul. 

Spenser  could  endure  his  agony  no  longer. 
Turning  to  her  brusquely,  he  drew  her  with  a 
sudden  violent  movement  toward  him  and  com- 
menced to  kiss  her  wildly.  She  struggled,  tried 
to  speak,  resisted  furiously  with  her  hands ;  Spen- 
ser only  grasped  her  more  tightly.  The  carriage 
commenced  to  pass  the  straggling  cottages  at 
the  commencement  of  the  village.  Spenser  cared 
for  nothing  but  the  subjugation  of  the  struggling 
creature  he  held.  Temporarily  he  felt  as  if  pos- 
sessed. Sooner  than  relinquish  her  unconquered, 
he  could  have  killed  both  the  girl  and  himself; 
no  power  on  earth  should  make  him  loosen  his 
hold  until  by  the  relaxation  of  all  antagonistic 
effort  this  woman  confessed  her  secret.  And  sud- 
denly the  hands  dropped  passive,  the  lids  closed ; 
12 


178  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

throughout  her  body  Spenser  felt  unconscious  sur- 
render. She  lay  in  his  arms  of  her  own  free  will. 
Slowly  he  withdrew  his  face  from  hers. 

"Beloved!"  he  said,  conscious  of  ecstasy,  and 
keeping  her  hands  in  his. 

The  landscape  seemed  to  him  blurred;  he  had 
no  idea  where  they  were.  Pulling  down  the  win- 
dow at  his  side  of  the  carriage,  he  stretched  his 
head  out  for  a  second  or  two.  The  current  of 
icy  air  restored  his  brain :  slowly  he  realized  their 
position.  In  ten  minutes  they  would  be  in  Gil. 
lette's  boudoir.  He  turned  and  looked  at  his 
companion.  She  was  adjusting  her  hat,  pulling 
down  again  the  veil  he  had  pushed  up  from  her 
mouth,  and  taking  off  the  net  bow,  crumpled 
past  recognition.  The  necessary  banality  of  her 
occupation,  with  the  practical  atmosphere  it  re- 
created about  them,  shocked  him.  He  had  ex- 
pected a  flood  of  reproaches,  to  encounter  her 
aghast,  panting,  bewildered  out  of  all  rationalism. 
And  she  adjusted  her  apparel  as  if  after  some 
simple  trivial  disarrangement.  But  when  she 
had  done  so  she  spoke,  and  her  voice  at  any 
rate  was  not  unaffected ;  it  shook,  trembling  and 
disordered.  Obviously,  it  proved  easier  to  repair 
externals  than  the  piteous  force  let  loose  within ; 
nothing  more  grief-shaken  than  her  voice  could 
be  conceived. 

"If  a  repetition  of  this  takes  place,  I  leave  your 
house  immediately!" 

She  had  scarcely  breath  enough  to  utter  the 
last  word  with.  Spenser  suppressed  a  smile;  he 
held  her  now.  She  was  only  beating  ineffective 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  179 

wings  against  the  net,  his  little  caught  bird. 
For  the  future  she  was  his. 

"I  was  mad.  You  need  not  be  afraid:  there 
shall  be  no  repetition.  The  sight  of  you  disturbed 
me  past  control.  I  worship  you ;  I  have  starved 
for  want  of  you  a  whole  winter.  Every  day  for 
months  I  have  felt  a  little  drop  of  my  life-blood 
oozing  away  in  insensate  longing.  Now  I  am 
healed;  I  can  last  for  a  time,  because  at  last  I 
have  kissed  you  once  more.  In  the  end  I  shall 
die  of  you,  Ellice,  but  for  the  present  I  am  saved. 
To  see  you  in  the  house  will  be  enough." 

They  had  turned  into  the  drive.  Close  to  the 
carriage  on  either  side  rhododendron  bushes 
dripped  as  the  wheels  swished  past  them.  It 
had  been  pouring  with  rain  until  mid-day;  since 
then  a  gray  mist  permeated  the  atmosphere.  It 
clung  to  the  ground,  to  the  trees,  to  everything, 
like  a  weak  despair,  afraid  of  itself,  and  turning 
anywhere  for  sympathy.  As  the  carriage  brushed 
past  the  bushes,  a  shower  of  rain-drops  blew  in 
upon  Spenser's  face ;  but  he  felt  them  as  a  refresh- 
ment, a  life-giving,  propitious  incident. 

Ellice,  meanwhile,  stared  at  him  with  an  ab- 
sorbed consternation. 

"Are  you  mad?"  she  asked,  but  not  dramat- 
ically. 

Her  voice  was  still  quivering  and  disconcerted- 

Spenser  then  remembered  that  she  knew  nothing 
of  the  passion  suddenly  born  in  him  on  the  day 
of  her  announced  engagement.  The  fact  put  him 
out.  He  desired  to  be  past  all  explanation.  Now, 
practically,  he  would  have  to  retrace  his  steps, 


180  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

dig  up  old  ground,  make  long  and  tedious  con. 
fessions.  They  -were  nearing  the  front  door ;  there 
was  no  time  even  for  a  brief  statement  now. 

"No,  I  am  not  mad;  but  I  have  lived  through 
a  curious  transformation  since  I  saw  you  last. 
Do  you  know  what  love  and  passion  are,  Ellice?" 

He  gazed  at  her  with  lean,  haggard  face.  The 
woman  leaned  back  against  the  carriage  feeling 
her  heart  swollen,  till  the  thin  envelope  of  her 
frame  was  near  to  creaking.  She  could  not  go 
to  Gillette;  not  even  her  strength  of  will  could 
control  the  delirium  soaking  into  her.  For  years 
she  had  waited  to  hear  the  words  this  man  had 
tittered  to-day  for  the  first  time.  The  carriage 
drew  up  at  the  house.  She  took  the  arm  Spen- 
ser offered  her  to  walk  up  the  steps ;  she  did  not 
feel  the  strength  to  stand  unaided.  The  library 
was  nearest.  He  took  her  into  it,  and  she  fell 
back  instantly  into  an  armchair  by  the  fire.  For 
an  instant  she  sat  staring  silently  in  front  of 
her,  gripped  by  the  power  of  a  dream ;  and  Spen- 
ser stood  opposite  to  her,  drinking  in  her  pres- 
ence, and  the  fact  she  betrayed  to  him  as  surely 
as  if  she  had  stripped  her  soul  to  reveal  it.  Gil- 
lette had  passed  from  both  their  lives. 

"She  looks  like  a  bride,"  thought  Spenser,  and 
he  hugged  in  his  heart  the  beautiful  change  that 
had  melted  the  cold  face  he  had  encountered  at 
the  station. 

The  eyes — the  long,  soft  eyes,  like  brown  velvet 
— were  alive  once  more,  all  pupil,  all  tenderness. 
She  was  indeed,  as  she  sat  there,  a  perfect  embodi- 
ment of  intense,  contained  emotion — emotion  re- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  181 

fined  to  a  white  heat,  clear  of  all  extraneous 
matter;  emotion  hot  to  luminousness,  glowing 
till  its  light  became  mysterious  and  profound. 

Suddenly  her  position  commenced  to  lose  its 
hypnotized  immobility.  He  saw  the  crude,  bare 
facts  of  life  encroaching  again,  felt  them  encour- 
aged, realized  that  she  was  desperately  dragging 
herself  back  out  of  the  enchanted  realms  of  her 
dream.  She  sat  upright,  and  slowly  pulled  off 
her  veil. 

"I  am  going  up  to  Gillette,  but  I  would  prefer 
to  go  alone.  Which  room  is  she  in?" 

She  did  not  look  at  him,  but  her  voice  had  its 
natural  quality  once  more. 

Spenser  explained  the  room  now  turned  into 
Gillette's  boudoir.  When  he  ceased  speaking> 
Ellice  looked  up  at  him.  Her  glance  was  steady 
and  self-possessed. 

"You  will  remember,  will  you  not?  that  any 
repetition  of  this  afternoon's  mistake,  and  I  leave 
the  house  immediately." 

Just  before  dinner  he  went  into  Gillette's  bou- 
doir. Ellice  was  sitting  in  a  low  chair  by  the 
side  of  Gillette's  couch.  The  two  women  held 
each  other's  hands,  and  at  the  sight  of  them  it 
seemed  to  him  that  excitement  literally  oozed 
from  his  drenched  brain.  The  vision  of  Ellice, 
moreover,  with  her  outdoor  things  removed, 
visibly  come  to  stay,  filled  him  with  a  sudden 
fear  of  betraying  himself,  so  great  was  the  com- 
motion her  actual  presence,  compassed  at  last^ 
set  up  in  him.  He  dared  not  even  look  in  her 
direction,  from  the  uncertainty  of  what,  without 


182  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

his  knowledge,  might  instantly  leap  into  his  ex- 
pression. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  followed  him  into  the  room,  how- 
ever, and  after  a  few  minutes  of  her  unsentimental 
conversation  Spenser  was  able  to  tell  himself  once 
more  that  for  a  man  of  forty  he  had  grown  ridic- 
ulous. His  nervous  exhilaration,  his  dread  of  be- 
trayal, his  guilty  discomfort  in  the  presence  of 
Gillette,  were  all  the  raw  tortures  of  a  boy  launch- 
ing upon  his  first  intrigue.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
how  trifling  the  whole  incident  was!  He  had 
kissed  a  pretty  woman  in  a  brougham — voila 
tout.  Yet  he  made  the  statement  without  satis- 
faction or  sincerity. 

For  the  next  few  days  Ellice  continued  exclu- 
sively occupied  with  her  friend.  Spenser  bore  the 
first  week  admirably,  feeling  ample  time  before 
him.  Besides,  he  had  sworn  to  respect  his  wife's 
illness.  Once  well,  she  could  fight  for  herself  like 
the  rest  of  the  world ;  prostrate,  deliberately  to 
deceive  her  was  like  kicking  one  fallen  and  de- 
fenceless. But  by  the  second  week  the  girl's  per- 
sistency commenced  to  irritate  him.  She  seemed 
afraid  to  walk  from  one  room  to  another  without 
company.  And  the  sight  of  her,  glued  perpetu- 
ally to  Gillette's  sofa,  ended  by  arousing  a  pain- 
ful jealousy.  They  had  always  a  hand  one  in  the 
other's,  these  two;  while  in  Ellice's  eyes,  when 
she  looked  at  his  \vife,  came  the  same  soft  light 
with  which  long  ago  she  had  gazed  at  him.  He 
felt  sick  whenever  she  turned  toward  Gillette^ 
while,  at  the  same  time,  it  was  practically  only 
in  the  latter's  room  that  he  could  see  her.  Fre- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  183 

quently,  however,  having  heard  her  tune  her  very 
voice  to  be  a  caress  for  the  weary  woman  on  the 
sofa,  he  felt  his  veins  like  whipcord,  while  his 
fingers  itched  to  shake  the  detested  gentleness 
out  of  her. 

Occasionally,  then,  he  went  and  sought  out 
Crawford,  dragging  him  a  long,  aimless  ride,  in 
order  to  work  off  the  excess  of  his  disquietude. 
In  an  hour  he  would  feel  better.  Once,  even,  out 
of  a  senseless  impulse  to  test  his  own  nerve  and 
effrontery,  he  said  to  Crawford  on  the  way  back : 

"There's  no  longer  any  place  for  one  up  there. 
Miss  Bastien  seems  to  have  monopolized  atten- 
tion." 

He  laughed  as  he  concluded.  It  gave  him  an 
unaccountable  pleasure  to  be  able  to  use  Ellice's 
name  glibly.  He  felt  it  like  an  assurance  against 
discovery. 

Crawford  made  no  reply.  Inwardly  he  asked 
himself  what  the  devil  Spenser  meant  by  the  re- 
mark. It  appeared  the  utterance  of  a  man  jeal- 
ously afraid  of  being  ousted  in  his  wife's  affec- 
tions. But  Crawford  had  seen  enough  to  know 
that  Spenser  did  not  care  a  brass  button  for  his 
wife.  Ellice  Bastien,  moreover,  had  been  shad- 
owed by  him  for  years.  For  once  he  regarded 
the  other  with  an  almost  stealthy  scrutiny.  Spen- 
ser's set  face  was  hard  and  bitter-looking ;  it  was 
certainly  not  the  face  of  a  lover,  but  Crawford 
remained  uneasy,  nevertheless. 

Since  Mrs.  Sinclair's  arrival  his  own  afternoon 
readings  had  ceased;  to  his  surprise,  causing 
quite  an  appreciable  blank  in  his  existence.  He 


184  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

still  called  almost  daily,  and  sat  with  the  three 
ladies  for  an  hour  or  so;  but  in  a  mild  degree 
he  also  suffered  from  the  inseparableness  of  the 
two  women.  He  missed  the  delicate  intimacy  of 
the  old  tete-a-tetes.  They  had  been  as  a  spiri- 
tual bath  to  him,  and  he  felt  his  atmosphere  grow 
turbid  now  without  this  washing  and  refresh- 
ment. Indeed,  Crawford  was  not  altogether 
light-hearted  at  this  period ;  he  could  not  get 
easy  with  himself.  To  look  upon  the  past  was 
to  see  such  an  area  of  mud — to  see,  indeed,  he 
felt,  very  little  else.  And  for  some  weird  reason 
he  found  himself  to  have  grown  sick  of  mud,  and 
appalled  at  being  immersed  in  it.  It  was,  in  fact, 
becoming  a  necessity  to  him,  and  all  because  of 
this  new  fraternal  affection  for  a  plain  woman, 
sofa-ridden  with  an  unbecoming  illness,  to  emerge 
from  nastiness,  to  get  his  life  whitewashed  and 
scrubbed,  made  sweet-smelling  and  clean. 

He  did  not  like  Spenser's  remark,  therefore:  it 
suggested  a  desire  to  befool  and  mislead.  That 
evening  he  dined  at  Rook  House,  and,  looking 
the  epitome  of  placid  inertia,  watched  narrowly 
both  his  host  and  the  woman  he  had  once 
thought  to  have  been  the  latter' s  fiancee.  Miss 
Bastien  had  altered,  and  he  did  not  altogether 
like  the  alteration;  her  whole  appearance  sug- 
gested to  him  a  moment  of  intense  emotionability . 
He  had  never  seen  her  eyes  so  dark,  so  inscrut- 
able; moreover,  her  lips,  her  skin,  everything 
about  her,  had  a  new  indescribable  glow.  A  deep, 
radiant  excitement  was  the  only  definition  he 
could  find  for  the  effect  given  by  her  appearance. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  185 

D 

And  her  friend  whom  she  pretended  to  adore  was 
lying  upstairs  in  possible  danger  of  her  life.  What 
had  she,  therefore,  to  glow  for? 

Spenser  himself  looked  much  as  usual,  stern, 
handsome,  disagreeable;  but  he  talked  far  more 
than  ordinarily.  His  eyes,  moreover,  turned  in. 
cessantly  to  the  girl  sitting  on  his  right,  and 
Crawford  saw  in  their  gaze  a  look  as  if  they  de- 
sired to  constrain  her  by  sheer  strength  of  will 
into  some  response  denied  them.  Crawford  did 
not  like  the  manner  of  either,  and  told  himself 
so.  Spenser,  besides,  appeared  to  be  drinking  as 
if  to  produce  atrophy  of  the  brain. 

After  dinner  the  two  women  rose  to  return  to 
Gillette.  Crawford,  who  in  his  present  mood 
did  not  feel  anxious  to  be  left  with  his  host, 
asked  Mrs.  Sinclair  if  he  might  not  come  up  for 
a  few  minutes  and  pay  his  respects  to  Mrs.  Spen- 
ser. 

"Why,  of  course ;  she'll  be  delighted,  delighted ! 
Why,  she's  just  devoted  to  you,  is  Gillette.  You've 
been  a  real  good  friend  to  her,"  replied  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair ardently,  and  tucking  her  little  arm  famil- 
iarly through  that  of  her  immense  companion. 

But  they  had  no  sooner  entered  Gillette's  room 
before  Crawford  saw  there  would  be  no  conver- 
sation that  evening,  or  for  many  evenings  to 
come.  She  was  sitting  upright  on  the  settee, 
her  untasted  dinner  still  on  the  table  at  her  side. 
Her  face  was  drawn ;  her  lips  were  the  color  of  a 
slate-pencil.  Her  hair  looked  disordered,  as  if 
she  had  just  pushed  her  fingers  through  it  in  a 
paroxysm  of  pain.  She  rose  to  her  feet  as  they 


186  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

entered,  and  with  a  smile,  rendered  beautiful  and 
touching  by  the  physical  agony  it  overcame,  gave 
him  her  hand.  It  was  wet  with  perspiration, 
cold  as  ice.  The  tears  rose  to  Crawford's  eyes 
as  he  took  it. 

"Will  you  forgive  me?  I  am  afraid  I  must  go 
to  my  room.  I  am  not  very  well  to-night." 

Her  voice,  like  her  smile,  quivered  with  an- 
guish. Crawford  felt  as  if  below  the  simple, 
courteous  words  he  could  hear  murmuring:  "Oh, 
I  suffer,  I  suffer !  I  am  in  hell,  but  I  will  be  brave ! 
You  see  I  am  brave  in  order  not  to  give  you 
pain." 

He  led  her  to  the  door,  retaining  her  hand  un- 
consciously. Truly,  if  he  could  he  would  have 
born  every  pang  of  agony  for  her.  At  the  door 
she  looked  up  and  smiled  at  him  once  more  with 
a  pathetic  sweetness  of  expression. 

"How  good  you  are!  Good-night,  and  thank 
you." 

Crawford  did  not  think  of  the  Divine  arrange- 
meats  at  that  moment. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"Spenser,  your  wife  is  ill.  Mrs.  Sinclair  wishes 
the  doctor  sent  for  immediately.  I  am  just  going 
to  fetch  the  local  man,  and  to  wire  for  the  other 
and  the  nurse.  Write  me  addresses,  will  you,  old 
man?  while  I  get  them  to  bring  round  my  horse." 

Spenser  turned  gray,  dropping  the  paper  he  was 
reading  on  to  the  floor.  A  shiver  passed  through 
him.  Horror  had  stalked  into  the  house.  From 
this  moment,  and  for  an  indefinite  period,  every 
obscure,  hideous,  repugnant  possibility  was  ten- 
able! He  rose  with  an  unpremeditated  impulse 
to  rush  upstairs  and  see  for  himself  if  Craw- 
ford's statement  were  really  true.  She  had  only 
been  ill  seven  months.  Then  he  remembered  he 
must  find  the  addresses.  A  good  sort,  Crawford, 
he  said  to  himself,  to  do  all  this;  servants  were 
so  slow  and  so  stupid.  Ought  he  to  go  himself? 
He  had  no  idea,  the  suddenness  of  the  news  stupe- 
fying him.  Both  the  doctor's  and  the  nurse's 
address  were  in  Gillette's  boudoir.  He  got  up  and 
went  to  fetch  them,  feeling  the  silence  of  the  house 
to  be  unnatural.  He  expected  to  hear  shrieks, 
bells  rung  frantically,  servants  rushing  up  and 
down  the  stairs.  Perhaps  Crawford  had  been 
mistaken.  But  no:  he  brought  the  statement 
from  Mrs.  Sinclair,  who  could  not  but  know. 

When  the  former  had  left  the  house  he  went  to 


188  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

Gillette's  bedroom.  For  a  minute  or  so  he  stood 
listening  to  the  confused  sounds  inside;  he  could 
hear  the  rustle  of  his  mother-in-law's  gown.  She 
and  Ellice  seemed  to  be  moving  about  the  whole 
time.  He  could  hear  them  speaking  now  and  again 
in  a  sort  of  cooing  fashion,  though  what  they 
said  remained  inaudible  to  him.  Irresistible  terror 
invaded  his  frame  as  he  listened.  To  save  his  life 
he  felt  he  could  not  have  looked  upon  the  scene 
taking  place  inside.  Finally,  he  commenced  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  passage,  longing  for  cour- 
age to  enter  the  bedroom,  and  held  back  by  a 
fear  that  grew  through  his  ignorance.  Every 
minute  he  hoped  Ellice,  at  least,  would  come  out 
to  report  to  him.  Vaguely,  moreover,  he  felt  it 
was  not  a  scene  for  her,  and  his  impatience  for 
her  appearance  increased;  she  would  suffer,  be- 
sides, to  see  the  other's  anguish.  Then,  at  last, 
he  knocked  at  the  door.  After  a  pause  Ellice  her- 
self answered  it. 

"You  cannot  see  Gillette,  but  she  sends  you  her 
love,  and  says  you  are  not  to  be  troubled,  for 
pain  that  is  to  bring  such  happiness  is  itself  half 
joy." 

Her  words  came  curtly,  as  if  she  were  too  occu- 
pied to  put  life  into  them. 

"Is  she  in  much  pain?"  he  asked,  shivering  al- 
ready at  the  answer  he  knew  would  come. 

"I  am  afraid  so;  but  she  will  not  let  me  stay. 
She  was  sending  me  to  keep  you  company.  Your 
possible  anxiety  is  one  of  her  chief  thoughts." 

They  went  down  the  stairs  in  silence,  and,  once 
in  the  drawing-room,  the  girl  flung  herself  upon 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  189 

the  sofa  exhausted.  While  she  lay  there,  keeping 
her  lids  closed,  as  if  light  were  abhorrent  to  them, 
Spenser  fetched  a  brandy-and-soda  from  the  din- 
ing-room ;  then  he  came  back,  shut  the  door,  and 
allowed  a  slow  enervation  to  creep  into  his  sys- 
tem. They  would  be  alone  together  for  another 
hour,  possibly  for  the  better  part  of  the  night. 

Ellice  drank  the  brandy-and-soda  without  speak- 
ing; then  she  slowly  drew  herself  up  into  a  sitting 
posture. 

"I  am  cold,"  she  said,  and  went  and  sat  upon 
the  hearth-rug  before  the  fire. 

But  at  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  she  commenced 
to  walk  restlessly  about  the  room.  Her  heart 
was  still  with  the  woman  upstairs,  felt  Spenser, 
and  he  struggled  vainly  to  suppress  anger.  What 
good  could  it  do  to  go  through  a  useless  martyr- 
dom also?  It  might  be  weeks  before  another  tete- 
£-tete  was  granted  them. 

"Ellice,  sit  still.  The  doctor  will  be  here  di- 
rectly. Won't  you  rest  your  head  against  my 
shoulder,  and  let  us,  dear,  have  at  least  the  com- 
fort of  one  another?  It  must  be  a  night  of  hor- 
rors for  all  of  us.  For  my  sake  grant  me  some 
innocent  concession;  for  this  is  worse  for  me 
than  any  one.  Marrying  her  as  I  did,  I  have  to 
feel  a  brute  besides  everything  else." 

He  was  not  acting.  The  first  touch  of  Ellice' s 
hand  extended  compassionately  to  his,  and  sin- 
cerity issued  from  him  unawares.  She  was  stand- 
ing with  her  head  thrown  back,  as  if  strained  to 
catch  the  least  sound  coming  from  outside.  Spen- 
ser felt  certain  that  she  realized  very  vaguely,  if 


190  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

at  all,  in  whose  companionship  she  was,  Then 
suddenly  glancing  round  at  him,  the  liquid  brown 
eyes  became  aware  and  contemplative.  At  last, 
he  knew^,  she  also  felt  that  they  were  alone  to- 
gether. Like  a  passing  flash  fear  entered  and  dis- 
appeared in  her  eyes.  Spenser's  pulse  quickened. 
The  expression  had  been  instantaneous  only,  but 
the  fear,  he  could  swear,  was  not.  She  was  afraid 
to  be  alone  with  him,  even  for  an  hour ;  and  she 
was  right.  In  the  few  minutes  they  had  passed 
together  closed  in  from  observation  his  mind  had 
undergone  a  terrible  alteration ;  already  her  pres- 
ence commenced  to  act  upon  him  like  a  narcotic. 
All  that  was  taking  place  upstairs  had  begun 
slowly  to  recede  out  of  his  understanding.  The 
doctor  would  come,  of  course,  and  for  hours 
everybody  but  himself  and  Ellice  would  be  sucked 
into  the  whirlpool  of  agony  taking  place  on  the 
other  landing.  But  these  hours  represented  noth- 
ing to  him  now  but  the  presence  of  Ellice ;  the 
other  had  less  hold  than  a  dream  remembered. 

"George,  remember  that  Gillette  is  in  mortal 
pain — that  her  very  life  is  in  danger!" 

He  was  looking  at  the  girl  with  an  unconscious 
intensity,  and  she  drew  her  hand  out  of  his  clasp 
once  more.  But  in  her  own  eyes  a  new  expres- 
sion of  yearning  gleamed  indiscreetly.  She  moved 
away  toward  the  table,  turning  her  back  to  him. 
From  her  whole  face,  however,  while  she  spoke, 
had  issued  a  haggard  desire  to  put  some  question 
sheer  force  of  will  crushed  into  silence.  An  intoler- 
able emptiness  or  uncertainty  cried  out  in  her 
expression  for  mysterious  assurance  or  satisfac- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  191 

tion.  Spenser  felt  her  gaze  actually  like  desperate 
hands  clutching  at  his  flesh,  and  imploring  with 
an  almost  distraught  frenzy  for  a  life-giving  grace 
withheld.  He  was  fascinated  and  bewildered  both. 
What  a  revelation  of  powerful  feeling  this  lightly 
smiling  woman  could  be !  Her  head,  the  attitude 
of  her  immobile  body,  the  very  fashion  she  had 
of  wearing  her  hair,  as  if  drawn  off  the  forehead 
by  some  passionate  hand,  all  helped  to  express 
a  consuming  excitement,  kept  inward  only  by 
supreme  endeavor.  And  then  brusquely  she  had 
turned  away  from  him.  Spenser  also  made  a 
clutch  at  self-control.  He  repeated  to  himself 
mechanically  that  in  a  few  minutes,  probably, 
the  doctor  would  arrive.  At  any  moment  they 
might  be  broken  in  upon.  Gillette,  moreover,  was 
ill,  exceedingly  ill,  so  ill  she  was  the  only  sub- 
ject one  should  think  of.  But  the  strange  look 
of  hunger  and  mystification  in  Ellice's  eyes 
troubled  him  with  a  tempest's  force. 

"Why  did  you  look  at  me  just  now  as  if  asking 
me  a  question?"  he  said  brusquely,  following  her 
to  the  round  table  covered  with  books  and  pa- 
pers. 

"I  had  no  intention  of  putting  any  question. 
I  am  filled  with  anxiety,  and  that  may  give  an 
unquiet  look  to  my  face.  Surely  the  doctor  ought 
to  be  here  by  now?" 

If  she  would  only  have  the  tact  to  leave  Gil- 
lette out  of  the  conversation!  thought  Spenser. 
To  drag  her  between  them  as  a  preventative  to 
any  dangerous  discussion  was  a  weak  mistake. 
The  mere  word  on  her  tongue  unsettled  him. 


192  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

"Iknowyou  are  anxious,"  he  answered  irritably. 
Then  suddenly  he  burst  into  an  angry  laugh. 
"Bah!  you  so-called  fascinating  women  are  all 
alike.  You  have  the  same  tricks,  every  one  of 
you.  And  it  is  all  so  cheap  and  so  obvious. 
Your  subtlety  is  about  as  great  as  that  of  an 
ostrich." 

Ellice  had  moved  back  to  the  fire-place,  hold- 
ing her  hands  out  to  the  flames.  Spenser's  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  her  fingers,  which  in  the  firelight 
glowed  as  if  transparent  pink.  In  the  glow,  more- 
over, the  four  jewelled  rings  he  had  given  her 
gleamed  with  a  shifting,  restless  heat. 

The  woman  looked  up  astonished. 

"May  I  ask  what  you  mean?"  she  said  coldly. 

Spenser  felt  bursting  with  unaccountable  anger : 
for,  as  he  stood  beside  her,  the  faint  perfume  of 
violets  had  reached  him  from  her  person.  Nothing 
disturbed  him  more  than  the  fragrance  of  a  scent 
become  part,  as  it  were,  of  every  memory  apper- 
taining to  a  particular  woman.  The  tremulous 
sweetness  of  the  scent  used  by  Ellice,  and  insep- 
arable from  every  recollection  of  her,  entered  his 
brain  and  senses  with  an  overpowering  influence. 
He  felt  it  physically  weaken  his  entire  system. 
And  as  he  drew  painfully  upon  strength  of  will 
to  resist  the  appeal  to  fling  his  arms  about  the 
other,  and  so  draw  this  sweet  memory-laden  scent 
closer  to  his  nostrils,  his  eyes  fell  on  her  hands, 
decorated  with  their  fantastically  shaped  rings. 
The  sight  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  angered 
and  oppressed  him.  After  all,  she  was  only  one 
of  a  crowd,  caring  for  the  same  idiotic  parapher- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  193 

nalia  of  attractiveness,  the  same  stupid  gauds 
and  shallow  show  of  mystery.  What  right  had 
Ellice  to  fall  back  upon  the  monotonous  battle 
array  of  the  vulgar-minded.  What  need  had  she 
to  rely  upon  stupid  jewelry  for  fascination — she, 
charged  with  it  like  a  vessel  full  to  bursting? 
Her  action  lowered  and  belittled  her.  She  was 
however,  still  waiting  for  an  answer,  a  troubled, 
childish  look  creeping  to  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
How  well  he  knew  that  look !  It  welded  the  pres- 
ent to  the  past  so  absolutely  that  his  senses 
swam.  In  an  instant  discretion  dropped  out  of 
him. 

"What  I  mean  is  that  I  love  you,  Ellice.  Listen 
to  me — listen  to  me ;  you  must  be  made  to  under- 
stand. I  live  in  hell  for  want  of  you:  you  are  all 
I  think  of,  li ve  for,  desire.  You  are  like  the  blood 
in  my  veins,  necessary  to  my  life  as  the  nerves  of 
my  body.  It  is  absurd,  and  yet  is  killing  me. 
Sometimes  I  have  asked  myself  whether  I  do 
love  you  because  I  can  abuse  you,  criticise  you? 
revile  you;  then  I  see  I  could  as  little  tear  you 
out  of  myself  as  I  could  a  vital  organ.  You  have 
permeated  every  particle  of  my  system,  and  I 
tell  you,  Ellice,  without  exaggeration,  I  am  phys- 
ically wasting,  dying  by  inches,  because  of  the 
most  damnable  mistake  ever  made  by  any  man." 

He  had  gripped  the  hand  nearest  to  him,  and  he 
held  it  while  he  spoke  pressed  against  his  chest. 
He  fancied  the  warmth  of  her  flesh  stole  through 
to  his  to  comfort  and  appease  him.  At  the  first 
sentence  the  girl  had  lifted  her  head,  listening 
with  her  lips  slightly  fallen  apart,  and  showing 
13 


194  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

the  small,  flake-like  teeth  between.  Gradually  her 
face  grew  white  -with  a  pallor  that  expressed  a 
more  passionate  vitality  than  any  wave  of  color. 
She  was  like  a  piece  of  white-hot  steel. 

"You  have  never  loved  me;  you  deceive  your- 
self, and  what  you  say  is  nonsense." 

Slowly,  when  he  ceased  speaking,  Spenser  saw 
the  magnetized  absorption  pass  out  of  her;  but 
he  was  not  greatly  discouraged.  The  moment 
she  ceased  to  clutch  as  a  saving-board  at  the 
tragedy  upstairs  he  felt  illimitable  power  steal 
through  him.  And  now  at  last  the  occasion  had 
come,  at  least,  for  complete  understanding — thank 
Fate  for  that.  All  his  endeavors  could  only  be 
like  the  beating  of  empty  air  until  she  knew  the 
insane  delusion  of  three  years  to  have  exploded 
like  a  pricked  balloon. 

"My  dear,  everything  is  different  to  what  it 
was  when  I  saw  you  last.  You  do  not  under- 
stand. Come  and  sit  on  the  sofa  there.  I  will 
sit  at  your  feet,  and  at  any  rate  make  you  realize 
the  truth.  At  least — no,  I  will  walk  about  and 
tell  you;  to  sit  still  just  now  would  be  impos- 
sible for  me." 

He  drew  her  to  the  sofa,  covered  in  faded  Span- 
ish silk.  But  suddenly  Ellice  made  a  movement 
of  dissent  and  returned  to  the  fireplace. 

"No,  I  must  not  and  will  not  listen  to  you. 
There  is  only  one  fact  now  it  is  important  for 
either  of  us  to  remember.  You  are  the  husband 
of  Gillette,  and  she  is  ill  upstairs ;  I  am  the  friend 
of  you  both,  but  there  can  be  nothing  imperative 
for  you  to  tell  me;  all  intimate,  urgent  subjects 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  195 

are  for  the  discussion  of  husband  and  wife — I  am 
presuming,  of  course,  that  the  topic  is  a  personal 
and  grave  one,  not  a  matter  of  business." 

Spenser  was  not  greatly  enervated  by  her  state- 
ment; in  fact,  it  struck  him  as  puny  in  its  futil- 
ity. His  own  desire  to  confess  everything  was 
merely  stimulated  by  her  resistance  to  it.  He 
followed,  therefore,  to  the  fireplace  and  in  a  flood 
of  rapid  sentences  poured  out  the  truth.  She 
tried  repeatedly  to  check  him  by  interruption,  but 
he  drowned  her  voice  by  unceasing  continuance 
of  his  own.  Then  she  made  a  movement  to  leave 
the  room.  In  a  second  he  had  hold  of  her  wrist. 
Meanwhile  her  ears  were  being  bombarded  with 
information;  Spenser  left  nothing  unsaid.  From 
the  instant  of  receiving  the  first  shock  of  her  en- 
gagement, he  confessed  every  sensation,  every  re- 
action, every  vacillating  step,  toward  the  supreme 
moment  of  complete  understanding  when  the 
words  "I  love  her — I  love  her!"  hurled  themselves 
on  to  his  tongue. 

During  his  rapid  narration  EUice's  eyes  never 
moved  from  their  gaze  of  the  firelight;  but  he 
felt,  more  than  saw,  that  every  word  he  uttered 
was  heard  and  attended  to.  When  he  paused  at 
last,  emptied  of  utterance,  a  silence,  steeped  for 
the  man  in  piteous  suspense,  followed.  To  break 
it,  he  said  softly: 

"Ellice— my  little  one!" 

Slowly  she  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him. 
The  expression  of  her  face  betrayed  nothing. 

"For  three  years  I  tried  to  teach  you  to  love 
me,  and  you  would  not.  How  pitiable  it  all  is! 


196  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

For  you  never  loved  me  for  one  single  instant 
until — your  marriage.  Ah,  yes !  you  said  you  did ; 
only  /  knew  it  was  not  true.  But,  then,  the 
chimera  pleased  you;  I  could  not  but  leave  it 
undisturbed.  Loving  you,  I  did  not  want  to 
disperse  an  illusion  evidently  of  comfort  to  you  ; 
but  I  am  a  very  ordinary  woman,  and  not  for 
one  moment  did  I  enjoy  the  pacification  of  de- 
ception. Had  you  loved  me  even  a  little,  could 
you  have  calmly  continued  for  years  and  denied 
yourself  joy  of  me?  You  built  up  ridiculous  fan- 
cies simply  because  you  had  no  desire  to  marry 
me,  and  felt  some  explanation  necessary.  Yes, 
you  admired  me;  we  were  in  tune,  in  sympathy, 
what  you  -will.  Our  natures  flung  out  intuitive 
tentacles  one  to  the  other,  but,  for  some  reason 
I  have  found  difficult  to  explain,  you  did  not 
love  me.  Now  it  seems  you  do,  probably  because 
to  you  only  the  unattainable  is  fascinating;  and 
because  it  is  too  late,  and  because  all  the  past 
ends  now  as  I  cease  speaking,  I  will  confess  to 
you.  I  loved  you  for  three  years  to  the  point 
of  madness.  I  moulded  myself  for  you,  smiled 
for  you,  was  light  to  please  your  whim  of  happy 
women ;  distorted,  suppressed,  transformed  my 
whole  nature  out  of  insane  affection  for  you; 
lived,  moreover,  from  the  first  day  to  the  last 
in  the  inflexible  hope  and  intention  of  making 
you  sooner  or  later  love  me.  And  you  would 
not;  in  the  end  came  failure.  Then  you  told  me 
of  your  approaching  marriage.  We  -will  pass  over 
a  blank  interval.  As  I  said  before,  I  am  a  very 
ordinary  woman — I  suffered.  But,  like  the  aver- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  197 

age  human  being,  having  passed  through  my 
time  of  purgatory,  I  rose  up  calmed  and  purified. 
Now  I  can  only  beg  and  implore  you  to  remem- 
ber that  it  is  a  world  where  all  men  pay  for 
their  mistakes.  I  have  paid  for  mine;  you  also, 
unfortunately,  will  have  to  pay  for  yours.  Be- 
lieve me,  in  order  to  be  cured  the  more  quickly, 
I  do  not  love  you  any  more.  I  look  upon  you 
solely  and  simply  as  Gillette's  husband.  The  re- 
action of  feeling,  when  it  came  after  your  mar- 
riage, was  in  proportion  to  the  previous  madness. 
Listen;  is  not  that  the  carriage?  George,  forget 
this  brief  discussion;  it  has  been  terrible.  And 
never  forget  I  do  not  love  you.  Gillette — Gil- 
lette!" 

She  had  spoken  until  the  end  with  a  passion- 
ate coldness.  Unlike  Spenser,  she  showed  no 
haste,  no  impetuosity.  Excitement  in  her  case 
took  the  form  of  a  concentrated  deliberation. 
She  uttered  each  word  as  if  she  desired  to  fix 
it  in  his  brain  for  eternity.  There  was  a  mix- 
ture of  bitterness,  cruelty,  and  unquenchable  pain 
in  her  voice. 

Spenser  discerned  all  three,  and  experienced  a 
sense  of  having  each  separately  fused  into  his 
system.  She  had  struck  hard,  and  not  one  of  her 
blows  had  been  aimed  at  random.  In  the  con- 
fused inflow  of  transitory  thoughts,  he  dwelt 
vaguely  upon  the  invariable  cruelty  women  fell 
back  upon  at  the  least  contention  with  the  men 
who  cared  for  them — the  cruelty  of  contemptu- 
ous lies.  They  all  did  it;  they  were  idiotically 
alike.  The  confession  of  how  profoundly  she  had 


198  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

cared  merely  rubbed  acid  in  his  wounds.  They 
commenced  to  feel  mortal,  like  a  sore  gangrene 
permeates.  Standing  there,  superb  in  her  youth 
and  freshness,  with  her  beautiful  body  untouched 
by  the  least  chill  hint  of  age  or  illness,  she  seemed 
to  thrust  upon  him,  as  she  spoke,  his  own  phys- 
ical inabilities.  His  chest  felt  gradually  emptied, 
a  hollow  case  of  bones  sinking  into  his  back. 
The  whole  of  his  recent  sense  of  power  receded, 
as  if  blood  drawn  out  of  his  constitution,  at  the 
naked,  complete,  untrammelled  confession  she 
made — she,  so  secretive,  so  self-contained,  so 
rarely  in  the  habit  of  giving  out  any  thought 
folded  about  the  little  heart  he  had  considered 
so  gay,  and  small,  and  irreflective.  And  now 
she,  Ellice,  the  silent,  turned  the  past  condition 
of  her  heart  inside  out  for  his  benefit.  To  do 
that  truly,  she  must,  as  she  said,  have  absolutely 
washed  and  emptied  it  since.  She  could  not  have 
flung  this  callous,  intimate  avowal  in  his  face 
had  a  spot  still  quivered  with  tenderness.  A  del- 
icate shyness  alone  would  have  kept  her  silent; 
nothing  but  absolute  security  could  give  birth  to 
such  candor. 

And  yet  below  the  gasp  of  stupefaction  eddied 
a  chafed  conviction  that  in  part,  at  least,  the 
girl  was  lying.  Over  her  tongue  she  had  mas- 
tery, but  her  brainless  body  he  had  felt  shiver 
within  his  hold  less  than  a  week  ago.  No  man 
or  woman  could  be  cured  in  a  week. 

Still,  at  the  best,  her  statement  was  a  bewil- 
dering disaster,  and  he  looked  at  her  as  at  a 
person  become  suddenly  unfamiliar  and  fear-creat- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  199 

ing.  Her  mouth  had  never  to  his  knowledge 
been  so  red;  the  lips,  like  pink  rose-leaves  al- 
ways, were  now  scarlet  silk;  she  was  beautiful 
like  a  thing  on  fire;  there  was  not  a  particle  of 
her  figure,  for  all  its  immobility,  that  did  net 
give  the  impression  of  being  charged  with  vital- 
ity. All,  that  is,  but  her  hair,  and  that  full, 
thick,  loose,  shining  like  the  silk  of  silkworms, 
dropped  with  a  splendid  indolence  over  the  tiny 
ears  on  to  the  white  of  her  neck.  As  Spenser 
observed  the  temporary  enhancement  of  her 
beauty,  she  lifted  her  head,  heard  Crawford's 
horse  on  the  drive,  and  suddenly  altered  com- 
pletely. Horror,  like  a  panic,  rushed  into  her 
face,  horror  of  herself  and  the  oblivion  of  the 
last  half-hour.  Spenser  saw  it  with  inexplicable 
delight.  She  was  touching  directly  she  lost 
strength,  and  in  her  hasty  flush  of  remorse  she 
became  to  him  once  more  lovably  dependent  and 
womanly.  Her  cry,  "Gillette,  Gillette!"  had  a 
touch  of  hysteria,  but  it  pierced,  nevertheless,  to 
the  depths  of  his  being.  He  knew  that  she  spoke 
to  Gillette,  crying  intuitively  for  pardon,  putting 
into  that  one  word  all  her  penitence,  and  shame, 
and  regret. 

At  that  moment  Crawford's  cumbersome  step 
sounded  in  the  hall.  He  came  in  noiselessly,  for- 
getting that  Gillette  could  not  possibly  hear  any- 
thing upstairs.  Almost  in  a  whisper  he  said : 

"The  doctor  is  following;  he  will  be  here  in 
five  minutes.  How  is  she?" 

He  had  not  finished  speaking  before  the  front- 
door bell  sounded.  Simultaneously  all  three  ex- 


200  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

claimed,  as  if  rescued  from  unutterable  peril  by 
his  arrival: 

"The  doctor!  thank  God!" 

Spenser  went  out  to  meet  him,  and  took  him 
up  as  far  as  the  bedroom.  When  he  came  back 
the  three  sat  together  in  a  strained,  inactive 
silence.  Now  and  again  Spenser,  unable  to  keep 
still,  walked  out  into  the  passage.  There  was 
no  sound  from  above,  and  he  would  return  and 
resume  his  dreary  waiting  with  the  others.  From 
an  A  B  C  they  had  discovered  that  neither  the 
nurse  nor  the  London  doctor  could  possibly  arrive 
before  five  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Spenser  or- 
dered the  carriage  to  be  at  the  station  at  that 
hour,  and  then  subsided  once  more  into  a  seat 
by  Ellice.  The  night  was  sincerely  ghastly  to 
him,  and  yet  threaded  with  a  confused  sweet- 
ness. Here  at  his  side — one  with  him,  at  least, 
in  sharing  anxiety — was  Ellice.  The  comfort  of 
her  presence  now  she  was  no  longer  flinging  des- 
perate lies  at  him  as  a  last  defence  was  unutter- 
ably great  and  penetrating.  Curiously  enough, 
with  Crawford  in  the  room,  moreover,  they 
seemed  closer  than  they  had  done  in  their  recent 
deplorable  tete-a-tete.  She  had  hardly  spoken, 
but  once  she  had  looked  at  him  intimately  and 
compassionately.  Her  glance  intimated  that  he 
did  not  suffer  alone,  and  that  she  not  only  suf- 
fered with  him,  but  for  him,  retaining  already 
nothing  of  what  had  passed  but  affection  and 
sympathy.  The  softness  of  mood  that  issued  to 
him,  indeed,  was  almost  bewildering  after  the 
recent  sabre-like  strokes  her  voice  had  dealt  him. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  201 

But  the  strange  odor  of  death  hung  about  the 
house,  and  all  the  circumstances  of  life  collapsed 
before  a  mystery  more  profound  than  any  one 
of  them.  Even  Spenser  felt  passion,  anger,  desire, 
slowly  filter  out  of  him  in  the  pitiable  tension 
of  the  hours  that  followed,  when  minute  by  min- 
ute it  seemed  more  and  more  as  if  they  fought, 
they,  too,  by  their  revolt,  their  misery,  their 
silent,  exhausting  horror,  against  the  grim,  im- 
palpable presence,  already  sending  its  icy  breath 
into  the  house  it  yearned  to  enter. 

At  eleven  Crawford  commenced  to  pull  a  cigar 
to  pieces,  beside  himself. 

"Can't  somebody  go  up?"  he  said  piteously. 
"It's  killing  to  sit  here  for  eternity  and  know 
nothing!" 

"You  go,"  urged  Ellice  to  Spenser,  hardly  above 
her  breath. 

He  did  as  they  asked,  coming  back  with  a  face 
grown  absolutely  gray.  But  he  had  seen  Dr. 

S .  He  intended  staying  the  night.  She  was 

in  exceeding  agony,  but  no  immediate  danger. 
It  would  be  long,  but  so  far  affairs  promised  to 
assume  a  less  ugly  look  than  they  had  antici- 
pated. Mrs.  Sinclair,  in  the  absence  of  the  nurse, 
was  proving  invaluable,  and  the  doctor  could 
not  speak  too  highly  of  her  tact  and  presence  of 
mind. 

Then  for  a  hideous,  interminable  night  they 
sat  on,  trying  to  talk  fitfully  of  other  things. 
At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  Crawford  sug- 
gested going  in  the  carriage  to  meet  Dr.  D . 

His  disquietude  yearned  for  any  change  from  the 


202  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

unsuspended  tension  of  their  present  inactivity, 
when  every  minute  passed  in  wearing  expecta- 
tion. During  the  drive,  at  least,  there  would  be 
the  mental  rest  of  non-anticipation.  The  ears 
would  cease  from  straining  after  every  sound. 
Spenser  acquiesced  without  sensation.  To  be 
alone  with  Ellice  must  be  sweet,  but  he  had  no 
longer  any  desire  to  make  even  the  feeblest  sort 
of  love  to  her.  When  the  other  had  started,  in 
fact,  they  sat  for  some  time  without  moving  or 
speaking.  At  last  Spenser  said : 

"May  I  sit  by  you,  Ellice?" 

At  any  time  very  little  was  required  to  give 
his  appearance  a  look  of  alarming  bloodlessness. 
Now  his  skin  seemed  creased  like  a  thing  crumpled 
in  the  hand. 

"Yes,  dear,  if  it  comforts  you." 

He  sat  then  with  a  hand  stolen  upon  her  lap. 
but  neither  spoke.  The  feelings  of  both  were 
spent.  They  simply  waited,  indefinitely  aware, 
below  an  inordinate  lassitude,  of  an  atmosphere 
charged  with  terrible  uncertainties.  Only  to  Spen- 
ser there  was  also  a  thin,  evanescent  suavity. 
In  having  Ellice  as  companion  in  agony,  he  knew 
at  least  the  almost  voluptuous  feeling  of  a  pleas- 
ure filtered  through  an  acute  experience  of  pain. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

At  five  o'clock  Crawford  brought  back  the 

nurse  and  Dr.  D .  But  from  the  arrival  of  the 

latter  the  sense  of  impending  tragedy  seemed  to 
deepen  instead  of  lessening.  Indeed,  the  moment 
of  actual  bereavement  could  scarcely  have  yielded 
a  heavier  gloom.  For  some  hours  yet  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair was  allowed  in  and  out  of  the  sick-room. 
But  about  noon  next  day  she  was  definitely  dis- 
missed by  the  doctor,  and  from  then  until  the  end 
nobody  but  the  two  physicians  and  the  nurse 
remained  in  the  apartment.  As  for  the  others,  as 
they  had  passed  the  night  so  they  spent  the  greater 
part  of  the  day,  sitting  round  the  fire  in  uncer- 
tainty and  anticipation. 

In  the  early  morning,  cheered  by  the  arrival 
of  the  nurse  and  doctor,  Crawford  had  gone 
home  for  an  hour  or  two,  while  Ellice  and  Spen- 
ser also  had  separated  for  an  attempt  at  sleep. 
But  after  breakfast  Crawford  returned,  and  the 
rest  of  the  day  was  dragged  through  in  a  nervous 
inaction  that  would  have  strained  even  a  stolid 
disposition. 

After  lunch  Mrs.  Sinclair  flung  herself  on  the 
sofa  and  fell  asleep,  worn  out.  Crawford 
placed  a  rug  over  her  feet,  and  the  other  three 
recommenced  the  dreary  waiting  of  the  night 
before.  About  three  o'clock  the  footman  brought 


204  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

in  the  weekly  illustrated  papers.  They  tried  to 
make  them  a  source  of  occupation,  and  passed 
the  Sketch,  Black  and  White,  and  the  Graphic 
from  one  to  the  other.  Their  arrival  did  to  some 
extent  help  to  get  through  the  next  half-hour, 
but  at  the  end  of  that  time  they  were  once  more 
unoccupied.  There  was  an  increasing  sense  that 
at  any  moment  the  doctor  might  come  with  the 
merciful  news  that  it  was  over.  His  last  report 
had  been  almost  cheerful.  After  all,  he  hoped  to 
save  both  mother  and  child.  But  since  then  noth- 
ing had  been  heard. 

Ellice  sat  leaning  back  in  an  armchair  with  a 
footstool  for  her  feet,  and  as  the  day  drew  on 
her  face  grew  white  and  the  skin  opaque  and 
dull.  Spenser  noticed  her  complexion's  complete 
loss  of  transparent  freshness,  and,  with  a  sense 
of  curious  satisfaction,  found  his  adoration  un- 
dergo no  diminution.  Hitherto  he  had  been 
haunted  by  a  repugnant  terror  that,  in  spite  of 
his  present  boundless  affection,  it  -was  not  a 
sentiment  capable  of  standing  every  possible  con- 
tingency. It  had  recurred  to  him  repeatedly  that 
so  supremely  did  he  worship  her  singular  air  of 
freshness,  the  healthy  look  she  had  of  a  merry 
child,  that  once  suffering,  depressed,  conquered 
by  any  of  the  unbecoming  vicissitudes  of  the 
rest  of  humanity,  she  would  become  as  unat- 
tractive as  any  other  sickly  or  plain  woman. 
Instead,  gazing  into  her  sunken-looking  eyes,  he 
felt  that  she  had  never  been  more  dear  to  him. 
Truly,  it  seemed  that  Ellice  was  always  to  be 
the  exception.  Everything  that  remained  detest- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  205 

able  in  others  she  made  lovable  and  sweet.  All 
the  afternoon,  in  consequence,  he  enveloped  her 
in  a  thousand  silent  attentions.  She  should  feel 
at  least  that  she  was  never  out  of  his  mind,  and 
that  regret  for  her  long-endured  suspense  had  be- 
come his  paramount  sensation. 

The  presence  of  Crawford  the  entire  party,  him- 
self included,  took  as  a  matter  of  course.  Either 
from  preoccupation  or  because  Gillette's  appear- 
ance precluded  light  suspicions,  none  of  the  other 
three  for  an  instant  regarded  it  as  in  any  way 
peculiar.  His  impulsive  warm-heartedness  was 
common  talk,  and  they  merely  loved  him  for  a 
generous  participation  in  an  anxiety  he  could 
have  spared  himself  had  he  chosen. 

As  half-past  four  passed  blankly,  Ellice  began 
to  find  the  suspense  stifling.  After  hours  of  in- 
ertia, she  felt  suddenly  incapable  of  sitting  quiet 
another  second.  She  got  up  and  stood  by  the 
fireplace,  hesitating  what  to  do,  while  Spenser, 
looking  up  at  her,  became  conscious  for  the  first 
time  that  she  had  on  a  black  gown.  It  suited 
her  perfectly,  but  gave  him  a  disagreeable  im- 
pression, as  of  an  unconsciously  ominous  symbol. 
It  was  so  absolutely  rare  for  her  to  abandon 
the  gayety  of  colors.  As  a  rule,  she  clung  almost 
exclusively  to  light  or  rich-toned  materials,  that 
met  the  eye,  half  smiling,  half  discreet,  but  al- 
ways suave  and  untroubled.  While  she  stood 
there  the  doctor  entered.  He  looked  worn  out, 
but  his  smile  had  an  appearance  of  triumph. 

"My  dear  sir,  at  last  I  can  relieve  your  long 
anxiety.  It  is  over,  and  both  have  been  spared. 


206  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

You  have  a  son,  and  Mrs.  Spenser,  though  ter- 
ribly exhausted,  is  doing  quite  as  well  as  could 
be  expected.  We  have  a  hard  fight  still,  for  the 
prostration  is  greater,  unfortunately,  than  one 
could  wish ;  but  with  care  we  shall  pull  through. 
The  child  is  small,  but  perfectly  sound,  and  a  son. 
Yes,  yes,  madam,  it  is  successfully  over,  and  the 
poor  patient  will,  we  hope,  soon  be  restfully 
asleep.  There  must  be  no  visit  for  a  while;  ab- 
solute quiet  is  imperative.  Dr.  S will  remain 

near  for  an  hour  or  so,  but  when  I  have  seen 
him  once  more  I  think  there  will  be  no  further 
need  for  me  at  present.  Could  you,  Mr.  Spenser, 
give  me  the  next  train  to  town?  And  would 
you  oblige  me  with  a  whiskey-and-soda?  I  con- 
fess that  at  the  moment  nothing  would  be  more 
welcome." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  was  crying  on  the  sofa,  loudly, 
freely,  in  an  ecstasy  rendered  hysterical  by  reac- 
tion. Ellice  stood  motionless,  while  her  brain 
gave  the  impression  of  contracting  like  a  pricked 
balloon.  The  slow  departure  of  evil  anticipa- 
tion was  like  air  escaping  from  its  distended 
compass.  Now  for  the  first  time  she  realized 
clearly  what  they  had  really  expected  to  hear, 
and  through  the  incommensurable  force  of  thank- 
fulness found  words  annihilated.  Crawford  mean- 
while was  shaking  hands  wildly  with  everybody. 
Hilarious  and  expansive,  he  commenced  to  talk 
instantly,  brimming  over  with  hearty  congrat- 
ulations. Already  he  protested  to  be  able  to  see 
the  little  fellow  clinging  to  his  mother's  skirts, 
filling  the  house  with  jolly  noise  and  childishness. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  207 

He  plied  the  astounded  physician  with  questions, 
until  his  chatter  ceased  abruptly  upon  being  in- 
formed that  Mrs.  Spenser  was  by  no  means  out 
of  danger  yet.  Then  his  expression  dropped  back 
into  its  former  lugubriousness,  and  as  Ellice 
turned  to  go  out  of  the  room,  he  followed  her 
without  another  word. 

To  the  more  detailed  conversation  that  followed 
Spenser  listened,  feeling  gripped  by  nightmare. 
From  the  first  announcement  by  the  doctor  of  a 
living  child,  he  had  struggled  against  a  want  of 
air.  The  room  seemed  emptied  of  it.  He  drew 
in  breath  apparently  bereft  of  oxygen,  that  con- 
tracted instead  of  expanding  his  lungs.  Never 
since  the  doctor's  first  visit  had  he  for  an  instant 
supposed  the  child  could  be  born  alive — now  he 
had  a  son!  He  reviled  him  from  the  depths  of 
his  being.  To  Spenser  this  infant  seemed  like  an 
extension  of  Gillette  herself,  a  fact  to  make  him, 
if  possible,  more  married,  more  fettered,  mor  re- 
sponsible than  ever.  A  vision  of  the  little  crea- 
ture, hideous,  like  a  mewling  kitten,  in  the  the- 
atrically exultant  arms  of  its  nurse,  almost  ousted 
the  exhausted  mother  from  his  thoughts.  But 
she  was  not  dead,  thank  God!  All  through  the 
night  dread  that  she  might  die  had  been  sharp- 
ened by  a  morbid  idea  that  if  she  did  he  would 
be,  for  some  obscure  reason,  her  murderer.  Again 
and  again  since  yesterday  he  had  endeavored  to 
clarify  the  notion;  it  persisted  absurdly  and  yet 
distressingly.  For,  boundlessly  as  he  desired  El- 
lice,  to  obtain  her  by  the  death  of  the  woman 
who  was  the  innocent  obstacle  between  them 


208  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

would  harrow  conscience  as  incurably  as  if  he 
had  stealthily,  cunningly,  and  mercilessly  mur- 
dered her  to  attain  his  purpose. 

During  the  doctor's  long  conversation  distaste 
to  his  recent  fatherhood  increased.  And  when 
the  physician,  rising  with  visible  reluctance  out 
of  his  comfortable  chair,  remarked,  smiling,  that 
though  Mrs.  Spenser  must  not  yet  be  disturbed, 
there  was  no  similar  veto  upon  a  visit  to  the 
new  son  and  heir,  he  wondered  for  a  second  if 
the  man  was  being  ridiculous  deliberately.  Cer- 
tainly he  had  dragged  the  whole  circumstance 
to  the  level  of  a  bad  joke. 

Nevertheless,  in  the  next  fortnight  he  had  good 
reason  to  forget  his  passing  fancy  of  underlying 
humor.  Gillette  did  not  rally,  as  had  been  glibly 
expected.  On  the  contrary,  day  after  day  she 
drew  nearer  to  the  ugly  immobility  of  death ;  her 
life  seemed  like  a  substance  shrinking  hour  by 
hour.  When  Spenser,  urged  by  a  fantastic  spur 
of  conscience,  at  last  requested  to  see  her,  he 
found  her,  indeed,  almost  unrecognizable.  The 
large  round  face  had  dwindled  to  half  its  former 
size,  and  her  eyes,  in  their  bony  sockets,  wore  a 
terrible,  piercing  look.  She  who  had  been  so  red 
lay  more  deathly  pallid  than  the  linen  she  pressed. 
One  hand  rested  upon  the  rose-silk  eiderdown. 
He  had  no  sooner  seen  it  than  Spenser  could  not 
remove  his  gaze.  It  seemed  to  him  already  dead. 
There  was  no  blood  in  it,  no  life.  The  thought 
of  Ellice's  pretty  rose- tipped  fingers  flashed  into 
his  mind,  while  his  eyes  remained  held  by  a  hor- 
rible fascination  upon  this  unrecognizable,  bony 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  209 

thing  he  could  not  have  touehed  without  a 
shiver. 

Where  was  Ellice?  All  his  being  quivered  with 
the  imperious  desire  to  be  with  her  immediately. 
Her  presence  would  act  like  a  sponge,  wiping  out 
realities.  He  left  the  room,  feeling  that  the  unre- 
lieved pressure  of  his  life  would  end  by  killing  him. 
Never  in  his  life  had  he  passed  days  weighted  as 
they  were  since  a  child  had  been  added  to  the 
already  pitiable  encumbrance  of  his  marriage. 

He  found  Mrs.  Sinclair  and  Ellice  sitting  to- 
gether in  the  music-room.  Ellice  was  at  the  piano 
playing  quietly,  with  the  soft  pedal  down.  Mrs. 
Sinclair  worked  at  a  piece  of  fancy  work  by  the 
fire.  Since  Gillette's  illness  she  had  abandoned 
all  attempts  at  youth  and  fascination.  She 
seemed  no  longer  to  have  the  energy  to  dress, 
or  dwell  on  personal  matters.  From  breakfast 
until  dinner  she  was  incessantly  on  the  point  of 
dressing,  but  it  merely  ended  in  her  going  to  Gil- 
lette, and  from  her  to  the  nursery,  and  finally 
returning  downstairs  to  report  on  both,  not  in- 
frequently with  the  tears  streaming  down  her 
face. 

The  moment  Spenser  entered  the  room,  both 
women  looked  up  at  him,  with  eyes  impatient 
for  his  impressions.  Their  unuttered  request  an- 
noyed him  exceedingly,  flinging  him  back  as  it 
did  into  the  horrors  of  the  sick-room  he  was  im- 
patient to  be  rid  of. 

He  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  looking 
angrily  at  his  mother-in-law.  Ellice  rose  from 
the  piano  and  came  toward  him,  looking  up  as 
14 


210  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

one  waiting  to  hear.  She  had  changed  her  dress, 
he  saw,  while  he  had  been  upstairs.  Now  she 
wore  a  purple  crepe  de  chine,  tight  over  the 
beautiful  hips,  loose  from  the  knees  to  the  hidden 
feet.  The  sleeves  were  full,  and  fluttered  when  she 
moved.  As  she  stood  beside  him  she  rested  a 
hand  carelessly  upon  the  mantelpiece.  Instantly 
Spenser's  heart  thundered  in  his  chest;  the  con- 
trast was  so  striking  between  the  whiteness  of 
this  and  the  whiteness  of  that  other  he  had  just 
seen  upstairs.  Yet  Ellice's,  too.  was  veined,  del- 
icate, spiritual.  But  the  veining  was  not  livid, 
the  pallor  had  nothing  unhealthy ;  with  the  rosy 
nails  gleaming  at  the  tips,  it  looked  like  a  fallen 
apple-blossom.  As  he  watched  it  tying  against 
the  mantel-border,  he  longed  to  pass  his  lips 
right  along  the  snowy  lines  of  the  fingers,  till 
he  came  to  the  roses  at  the  tip. 

He  thought,  also,  he  had  never  seen  a  gown 
suit  her  better.  The  rich  color  threw  up  the 
transparencies  of  her  complexion  and  the  shim- 
mering lightness  of  the  hair  drooping  upon  the 
nape  of  her  neck.  She  looked  in  it  a  living  violet, 
fragrant,  distinguished,  and  in  imagination  he 
felt  the  perfume  of  her  flower  waver  past  his 
nostrils.  The  ends  of  a  loose  and  pale  crepe  de 
chine  of  blue  fell  from  her  breast  to  her  feet, 
•where  it  ended  in  a  heavy  fringe  of  silk.  For 
the  first  time,  moreover,  since  the  dreadful  night 
of  watching  she  looked  her  natural  self.  The 
heavy,  worn  appearance  of  recent  days  was  like 
snow  that  has  yielded  to  a  burst  of  sunshine. 
Had  Mrs.  Sinclair  left  the  room  then,  unable  to 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  211 

control  his  passionate  admiration,  loneliness, 
and  fierce  delight  at  this  return  of  the  old  Ellice, 
Spenser  would  have  seized  and  kissed  her  without 
an  instant's  reflection. 

But,  instead,  it  was  unavoidable  to  relive  for 
them  the  ugly  interview  he  had  come  downstairs 
frantic  with  desire  to  shake  off  and  forget.  He 
spoke  curtly,  therefore,  of  his  terrible  surprise 
at  the  change  in  Gillette,  and  of  the  inconceiv- 
able waste  that  had  taken  place  in  her  physique. 
Unconsciously  his  manner  conveyed  the  impres- 
sion of  a  man  too  alarmed  and  horrified  for 
•words.  Mrs.  Sinclair  commenced  to  cry,  Ellice 
drew  a  forlorn  sigh. 

"I  must  go  to  her,  I  must  go  and  be  near  her, 
at  least,"  muttered  Mrs.  Sinclair  between  her 
tears.  She  went  hastily  out  of  the  room,  trying 
ineffectually  to  control  her  grief.  The  agony, 
protracted  day  after  day  without  sensible  change 
or  diminution,  was  affecting  the  health  of  the 
whole  party.  At  a  word,  suffering  stumbled  out 
of  bounds,  to  grow  uncontrollable  in  its  excess. 

No  sooner  had  the  door  closed  behind  her  than 
Spenser  seized  the  hand  lying  upon  the  mantel- 
piece, and  pressed  it  against  his  lips  almost  with 
frenzy.  Then,  drawing  the  girl  suddenly  into  his 
arms,  he  kissed  her  with  the  same  vehemence  as 
he  had  done  on  the  day  of  her  arrival.  Any  mo- 
ment some  one  might  have  entered  the  room ;  he 
had  ceased  even  to  be  conscious  of  danger.  When 
he  released  her  he  had  no  desire  but  to  lie  still 
with  her  in  his  arms,  so  immense  was  the  fatigue 
beginning  at  last  to  overpower  him.  It  was  El- 


212  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

lice  who  spoke,  smoothing  with  unquiet,  trembling 
hands  the  hair  disordered  about  her  neek  and 
face. 

"George,  George,  let  us  understand  one  another. 
This  cannot  go  on.  The  wickedness  done  to  Gil- 
lette makes  me  feel  unfit  to  live.  Perhaps  if  we 
faced  things  together  it  might  ease  us  and  make 
a  repetition  of  what  has  just  occurred  no  longer 
a  danger.  There  is  so  much  like  a  weight  hid- 
den in  us  here "  She  made  a  movement,  and 

laid  one  hand  upon  her  breast.  "I  think  it  stifles 
us,  and  makes  restraint  sometimes  unbearable. 
Sit  down  and  let  us  talk;  I — suffer  so  much." 

"Yes,  by  all  means  let  us  be  frank,"  said  the 
other,  but  without  moving  away  from  the  fire- 
place. 

Her  beauty  this  afternoon  intoxicated  him. 
For  days  she  had  worn  only  an  old  morning- 
gown,  in  which  she  had  somehow  a  look  of  hav- 
ing dressed  hastily  and  without  care.  This  sud- 
den reassumption  of  deliberate  charm  affected 
him  doubly  by  contrast. 

"May  I  be  the  first  to  speak?"  inquired  the 
girl,  with  eyes  like  brown  violet  under  the  long 
lashes. 

"Don't  deny  that  you  love  me,  then.  For 
mercy's  sake  don't  repeat  that  silly  farce;  it 
would  not  deceive  me  for  a  second." 

His  outburst  was  unexpected.  Ellice's  lids 
closed  for  a  second  under  its  violence.  She  opened 
them  wearily,  and,  pulling  up  one  heavy  end  of 
the  pale-colored  crepe,  drew  the  fringe  absently 
across  one  hand. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  213 

"Yes,  it  is  true  I  love  you,"  she  said  finally, 
and  the  manner  in  which  she  said  it  -was  to  him 
like  a  lingering  kiss.  "This  is  what  it  is  best 
we  should  face:  that  I  love  you — you  love  me." 

She  stopped,  and  her  breast  heaved. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Spenser,  as  if  cooing  to  pacify 
a  frightened  child. 

He  tried  then  to  draw  her  head  against  his 
shoulder,  but  she  drew  away  from  him,  though 
her  eyes  in  their  unaccustomed  softness  were  like 
a  touch  soft  and  enticing  upon  his  face. 

"And  in  each  other's  presence,"  she  went  on 
almost  in  a  whisper,  "it  is  difficult  not  to  reveal 
everything.  You  ache  to  hold  me  in  your  arms, 
to  be  alone  with  me,  to  say  what  is  in  you;  I, 
too,  choke  with  the  fear  of  betraying  myself. 
When  we  are  alone  it  is  only  worse.  Then  every 
nerve  in  our  bodies  suffers,  crying  out  that  we 
are  lovers,  and  that  our  love  is  the  only  fact  in 
the  world  to  us.  In  the  end  it  overflows  all  our 
efforts,  makes  us  mad ;  then  what  has  just  oc- 
curred becomes  unavoidable." 

She  stopped  again,  panting  for  breath.  Her 
face  was  pale  with  the  same  excited,  intense  look 
Spenser  had  seen  before.  But  he  could  contain 
himself  no  longer;  he  put  his  arms  round  her 
shoulders  and  listened,  feeling  intoxicated,  to  the 
wild  beating  of  her  heart. 

"Yes,  child,  it  is  unavoidable.  You  have  be- 
come part  of  me;  I  exist  only  because  of  and 
for  you.  And,  sweet,  there  is  only  one  solution — 
after  all,  the  bravest — we  must  go  away  together. 
We  must,  and  shall" 


214  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

"George,  do  you  want  me  to  hate  you?" 

Her  expression  was  distraught,  and  her  breath 
against  his  face  came  like  steam.  He  looked  at 
her  and  laughed,  not  loud,  but  with  a  ring  of 
triumph,  revolting  in  its  certainty. 

"You  would  never  hate  me.  Since  we  are  to 
face  facts,  Ellice,  learn  this:  you  can  no  more 
shake  yourself  free  of  me  than  you  discard  your 
skin.  And  now  having,  as  you  wished,  emptied 
our  bosoms  of  hypocrisy,  the  imperative  neces- 
sity follows  to  decide  what  to  do." 

Each  word  that  passed  his  lips  cut  her  like  a 
knife.  He  experienced,  in  fact,  an  involuntary 
need  to  be  brutal  with  her.  The  entire  futility 
of  her  so-called  frankness,  intended  only  to  con- 
clude, he  foresaw  clearly  enough,  in  an  appeal 
to  remember  duty  and  a  request  to  bring  the 
episode  to  a  close  with  heroics,  parting,  and  a 
life  of  sacrifice,  made  him  feel  cruel  with  anger. 
Anything  more  feeble  and  useless  it  was  difficult 
to  imagine. 

"Now,  Ellice,  don't  break  out  into  foolish  in- 
terjection. It  is  your  turn  to  listen  to  me." 

He  still  spoke  with  his  face  close  to  hers,  and 
with  his  eyes — grown,  it  seemed  to  the  girl,  into 
an  indefinite  red  haze — fixed  upon  her  own.  As 
he  gazed,  she  felt  the  room  recede  from  her  vision, 
the  walls  draw  back  to  an  immense  distance. 
The  red  gleam  of  Spenser's  eyes  seemed  to  stupefy 
her  brain,  gradually  to  make  her  aware  only  of 
him  and  the  words  he  uttered.  The  tortured 
effort  to  keep  a  hold,  as  it  were,  upon  Gillette 
grew  minute  by  minute  more  desperate  and  un- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  215 

availing.  She  could  feel  her  slipping  into  unsub- 
stantiality,  eluding  her  exhausted  labor  to  remem- 
ber that  it  was  Gillette  only  who  must  be  con- 
sidered. Spenser's  words,  "You  would  never 
hate  me,"  buzzed  in  her  brain.  They  were  true, 
and  she  knew  it.  The  intense  outstretching  of 
her  nature  to  his  would  take  years  to  cool. 
He  was  her  idol,  in  his  hands  her  strength  melted 
to  wax;  and  now  he  knew  it. 

An  icy  foreboding  tore  into  her,  and  she  shiv- 
ered involuntarily.  But  she  made  one  more  su- 
preme effort  at  concealment.  Drawing  out  of 
the  crimson  haze  of  the  eyes  that  mesmerized  her, 
she  took  up  the  fringed  crepe  once  more,  and 
swung  it  slowly  backward  and  forward  in  her 
hand.  It  gave  her  a  look  of  detachment.  One 
might  suppose  the  blue  fringe  half  shared  the  at- 
tention of  her  mind.  A  growing  nausea  was  ris- 
ing in  her,  a  despairing  nausea  at  the  unnecessary 
agony  of  her  life.  An  inevitable  calamity  would 
have  been  less  bitter.  This,  padlocked  upon  her 
life,  was  gratuitous,  done  as  if  by  the  hate  of 
destiny.  And  in  her  soul  there  seemed  to  fall  in- 
visible tears  at  the  misery  that  must  lie  and 
gnaw  within  her  for  the  best  part  of  a  lifetime. 

Spenser  watched  her,  while  the  firelight  flung 
over  her  dress  checkered  patches  of  flaming  pur- 
ple. Suddenly  he  passed  his  hands  over  her  hips. 
She  dropped  the  heavy  blue  stuff  out  of  her  hands, 
crying  under  her  breath: 

"Let  me  go  upstairs;  I  cannot  bear  it." 

Spenser  put  out  his  arm  to  stop  her.  As  he 
did  so  the  front  door  bell  sounded  sharply. 


216  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

"The  doctor,"  muttered  Spenser,  adding  silently 
the  words,  "Curse  him!" 

The  former,  however,  went  straight  to  his  pa- 
tient. Then  Spenser,  feeling  that  time  was  short, 
began  to  speak  again,  rapidly,  but  no  longer 
with  bitterness.  There  was  no  longer  space 
enough  to  pour  forth  rancor.  He  could  afford 
that  only  when  certain  of  being  able  to  heal  th? 
wounds  again  afterward. 

"Ellice,  my  little  one,  my  life,  listen  to  me!  I 
have  made  the  most  ghastly  mistake  any  man 
could  possibly  make.  I  loved  you,  and  never 
grasped  how  much  until  too  late.  But  it  is  in- 
sensate to  sit  and  eat  one's  life  out  with  puerile 
regrets  for  the  past.  We  have  only  a  little  time ; 
existence  is  for  a  moment,  and  for  once  only. 
Moreover,  I  am  over  forty,  and  cannot  expect, 
at  the  best,  to  last  into  extreme  old  age.  To  you, 
as  to  me,  the  only  happiness  lies  in  being  together. 
I  know  you  well  enough  to  know  that  love  is 
more  to  you  than  public  opinion.  Oh,  my  dear, 
if  there  were  any  other  way,  I  would  lop  off  a 
limb  to  spare  you  this  one.  But,  Ellice,  you 
must  make  a  sacrifice  for  my  sake.  Most  women 
could  not  love  unselfishly  enough  to  make  any. 
You  can  and  will,  and  I  shall  worship  you  the 
more  because  of  your  beautiful  courage.  Are  you 
following  me,  Ellice?  Look  up  and  let  me  see 
what  has  crept  into  your  eyes.  You  will  go  away 
with  me,  live  with  me  abroad.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"Gillette!" 

Ellice  oscillated  as  if  the  ground  rocked  under 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  217 

her.  Spenser,  half  afraid,  put  her  into  the  arm- 
chair. But  his  chest  expanded.  She  was  a  be- 
leaguered city,  whose  defences  are  all  beaten 
down,  and  who  cries  out  in  final  wild  despair 
before  surrender.  Oh,  this  woman !  how  precious 
she  was  to  him — how  dear! 

"Ellice,  beloved,  be  sensible  and  shake  yourself 
free  of  mere  conventional  opinion.  Gillette  hasher 
religion,  her  good  works,  her  child.  Surely  that 
is  enough  to  fill  one  life.  I  have  been  a  brute  to 
her  from  the  beginning ;  she  cannot  love  me.  On 
the  other  hand,  I  have  nothing  but  you — nothing. 
Are  we  to  throw  away  our  lives  for  a  chimera? 
If  you  think  clearly,  you  must  see  for  yourself 
that  no  one  would  be  less  hurt  by  my  departure 
than  Gillette.  I  thwart  her  in  everything ;  I  harass 
her  all  day  long;  I  hamper  her  preposterous 
philanthropy,  and  I  make  her  incessantly  aware 
that  we  have  nothing  in  common.  But  you,  be- 
lieve me,  dear,  I  could  be  good  to.  From  the 
beginning  you  have  had  a  power  over  my  char- 
acter that  has  often  astounded  me.  Ellice,  you 
will  kill  me  if  you  oppose  me  long." 

Certainly  he  was  ashen-colored.  She  looked  up 
at  him  with  her  oval  face  childish  in  its  helpless- 
ness. Then  her  hands  went  out  in  a  mute  sup- 
plication. He  seized  them,  feeling  the  action  an 
unconscious  confession  of  her  inability  to  resist 
him. 

"George,  if  you  love  me,  you  will  never  give  a 
sign  of  the  fact  as  long  as  you  live.  Let  me  go — 
I  hear  some  one  coming." 

He  had  only  just  time  to  step  away  from  her, 


218  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

before  the  doctor  and  Mrs.  Sinclair  entered  the 
room.  As  they  came  in,  Ellice  passed  slowly  into 
the  library.  She  dared  not  trust  her  eyes  even 
to  the  gaze  of  a  stranger.  God  only  knew  what 
blazed  forth  from  them. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  few  days  later  Gillette  happily  commenced  to 
rally.  In  another  fortnight  she  was  out  of  dan- 
ger, and  after  that  made  a  very  gradual  progress 
toward  convalescence.  It  was,  however,  a  heart- 
breaking sight  for  all  concerned  when  first  she 
sat  up  in  bed.  To  Ellice  she  appeared  almost 
unrecognizable.  This  woman,  lying  as  a  lily 
whose  stem  has  been  broken,  had  a  face  like  a 
skeleton's.  The  eyes,  that  looked  out  of  it,  dull, 
fixed  in  expression,  tragically  supplicating  in 
their  long  immovable  gaze,  were  barely  human. 
They  were  not  Gillette's  eyes,  so  large  and  soft. 
They  belonged  to  a  person  so  near  the  grave  that 
some  of  its  incomprehensible  influences  had  al- 
ready commenced  their  work.  Ellice  felt  herself 
grow  momentarily  faint  at  the  first  visit  she 
made.  The  bony,  bloodless  figure  smiling  at  her 
so  wistfully  above  the  pink  silk  counterpane  over- 
mastered her  with  pity.  The  impression  of  con- 
tamination and  vileness  that  poisoned  her 
thoughts  since  the  last  tete-a-tete  encounter  with 
Spenser  rose  like  phlegm  in  her  throat.  She  hid 
her  head  on  the  counterpane  and  kissed  the  slen- 
der fingers  held  out  to  her,  without  being  able 
to  speak. 

Gillette,  however,  overflowed  with  happiness; 
they  had  allowed  her  that  morning  to  hold  her 


220  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

baby  for  a  few  minutes  in  her  arms.  In  his  sleep 
he  had  placed  one  tiny  clenched  hand  against  her 
breast,  and  her  joy  had  been  boundless  beyond 
expression.  She  inquired  of  Ellice  minutely  after 
every  member  of  the  household,  begging  her  re- 
peatedly not  to  be  anxious,  not  to  let  the  others 
be  anxious.  She  would  soon  be  well  now;  the 
nurse  could  verify  her  statement  in  being  abso- 
lutely docile  and  obedient.  Weak  as  she  was,  the 
old  atmosphere  of  love  and  selflessness  issued  in 
every  word  she  uttered. 

Ellice  left  the  room  conscious  of  being  mentally 
torn  in  fragments.  She  must  go  away;  at  all 
costs  an  ocean's  impediment  must  be  placed  be- 
tween herself  and  Spenser.  His  presence  sucked 
the  will  out  of  her.  For  his  happiness  she  would, 
without  hesitation,  sell  her  soul,  her  reputation. 
Anything,  indeed,  she  was  willing  to  do  for  him, 
except  this,  the  sacrifice  of  Gillette.  And  the 
sight  of  Spenser  day  by  day  growing  more  hag- 
gard, more  gray,  clogged  her  power  of  under- 
standing. To  look  at  him  drove  her  almost  to 
an  insanity  of  grief.  Him,  neither,  could  she  sac- 
rifice; truly  his  life  and  hers  were  one.  If  he  died 
her  existence  must  cease  simultaneously.  For  a 
week  his  cough  had  been  incessant,  and  so  great 
was  the  sympathy  between  them  her  own  chest 
burnt  the  whole  time  also,  as  if  likewise  raw  and 
painful. 

Huddled  in  front  of  her  bedroom  fire  after  leav- 
ing Gillette,  she  moaned  to  herself  for  several 
hours.  She  must  go  away;  but  Spenser  was  in 
a  state  of  ill-health  when  the  least  added  excite- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  221 

ment  would  bring  about  an  attack  of  hemor- 
rhage. Staring  piteously  at  the  firelight,  she 
felt  at  last  beaten  by  an  overwhelming  superior- 
ity of  forces.  God  help  her !  was  the  epitome  of 
her  thoughts;  she  could  no  longer  help  herself. 
In  the  ghastly  confusion  of  her  life  there  ap- 
peared no  genuine  pathway.  Turn  which  way 
she  would,  a  trail  of  suffering  must  lie  behind 
her  steps,  hideous  as  the  stain  of  blood  leading 
to  some  murdered  victim. 

Gillette  and  Spenser  rose  one  on  each  side  to 
draw  her  adverse  ways.  Torn,  bruised,  piecemeal 
with  grief,  one  would  finally  get  definite  hold  of 
her.  Whichever  it  was,  the  other  remained  deso- 
late, destitute,  treacherously  abandoned  by  friend 
or  mistress.  Nevertheless,  she  did  not  leave  the 
house.  It  would  have  worn  an  air  of  too  much 
inexplicability.  For  Gillette  asked  for  her  inces- 
santly, and,  from  a  few  minutes,  she  came  grad- 
ually to  spending  most  of  the  day  in  the  other's 
bedroom.  In  the  end,  therefore,  she  had  no  alter- 
native but  to  rely  upon  her  own  strength.  It 
seemed  comparatively  easy,  besides,  when  the 
greater  part  of  her  time  was  spent  at  Gillette's 
side.  The  old  hankering  after  noble  action  recom- 
menced to  agitate  in  her  as  she  sat  and  listened 
to  the  other's  low  conversation,  and  saw  the 
waste  and  helplessness  brought  about  in  her. 

"Will  she  never  be  herself  again?"  she  repeat- 
edly asked  the  nurse,  feeling  in  a  similar  way  to 
Spenser  that  this  poor,  disabled,  white  creature 
quadrupled  the  treachery  of  their  behavior. 

The  nurse's  answer  did  not  lighten  heaviness. 


222  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

She  believed  that  Mrs.  Spenser  would  undoubt- 
edly get  stronger,  but  that  she  would  ever  be  the 
same  woman  as  before  was  out  of  the  question. 
Too  many  delicacies  had  been  left  behind,  and 
the  strain  upon  the  extremely  weak  heart  had 
been  too  great.  She  hoped,  however,  that  in  a 
few  months  the  patient  would  be  able  to  get 
about  again,  only  for  the  future  it  must  be  a  life 
chiefly  inactive. 

The  baby,  also,  continued  small  and  frail,  and 
for  two  months  after  its  birth  the  house  retained 
an  air  of  disorganization  and  unrest.  Gillette's 
sick-room  became  its  centrepiece.  After  a  little 
while  they  took  it  in  turns  to  have  dinner  with 
her,  to  break  the  dull  monotony  of  meals  served 
up  incessantly  on  trays.  To  Spenser  the  even- 
ings of  his  dining  with  her  were  a  prospect  he 
dreaded  from  the  day's  commencement.  The  at- 
mosphere of  the  room  alone,  the  indefinable  odor 
of  medicines  or  illness — he  did  not  know  which — 
repelled  him.  And  Gillette's  languid  recovery 
rasped  him  unutterably.  So  long  as  she  con- 
tinued like  this — a  sight  to  make  one  shudder  in 
its  pitiable  suggestion  of  death  and  disease — El- 
lice's  resistance  was  daily  reinforced  to  an  extent 
rendering  it  practically  impregnable. 

Moreover,  the  vision  of  his  wife,  haggard  and 
shrunken,  revolted  him  to  such  an  extent  he  took 
to  dosing  himself  copiously  with  bromide  in  order 
to  contain  himself  in  her  presence.  She  was  sick- 
ness epitomized,  and  while  he  stayed  with  her 
he  felt  the  death  he  abhorred  always  at  his  side, 
mocking,  with  a  finger  pointed  at  Gillette,  as  an 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  223 

example  of  what  he,  Spenser,  might  expect  at 
any  moment.  Her  very  voice  made  him  shiver. 
There  was  none  of  the  rich  fulness  of  life  in  it. 
His  blood  froze  at  the  ominous  emptiness  of  its 
tone.  And  it  was  only  when  Ellice  came  in  at  the 
end  of  the  meal,  for  a  few  minutes'  good-night 
talk,  that  he  felt  drawn  back  once  more  out  of 
the  power  of  his  relentless  enemy.  He  hugged  then 
the  clear,  sumptuous  notes  of  her  voice  metaphor- 
ically to  his  soul,  wrapping  the  warmth  of  it 
round  his  brain  in  a  frenzy  of  gratitude. 

Nevertheless,  this  arrangement  of  meals  gave 
every  third  evening  a  tete-a-tete  dinner  with 
Ellice.  Throughout  the  day  they  lived  in  antici- 
patory commotion.  Spenser's  "Good-morning" 
at  the  breakfast-table  flooded  the  other's  heart 
with  tremors.  "We  dine  together  to-night,"  his 
manner  added,  for  her  comprehension  only.  And 
throughout  the  day  she  felt  him,  somehow,  to 
be  different.  There  was  a  vibration  in  his  voice, 
an  access  of  vigor  in  his  carriage,  as  if,  in  spite 
of  his  cold,  he  had  suddenly  become  better  in 
health. 

Both  retired  early  to  dress,  the  girl  making  in- 
stinctively upon  these  nights  a  difference  in  her 
toilette.  For  these  dinners  she  wore  a  black  net 
dress,  made  in  the  early  Victorian  fashion  off  the 
shoulders.  The  pretty  curve  of  the  latter  emerged 
superb  from  the  fluttering  black,  while  the  semi- 
suggestion  of  overexposure  given  by  the  style 
had,  in  the  success  of  the  revelation  made,  a  fas- 
cination that  was  stupendous.  To  Spenser  she 
yielded  in  it  the  impression  of  having  in  a  slight 


224  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

degree  bared  herself  for  his  eyes  only;  as  if  a 
woman  exquisitely  modest  should  for  her  lover 
discard  some  part  of  it,  to  reveal  in  a  pride  ab- 
solutely selfless  the  beauty  gloried  in  only  for 
the  pleasure  given  to  this  one  person.  The  fancy 
was  strengthened  by  the  fact  that  invariably, 
upon  going  up  to  Gillette  afterward,  Ellice  flung 
over  her  shoulders  a  fine  black  lace  scarf,  as  if 
refusing  this  soft  white  to  all  but  him. 

When  they  met  in  the  drawing-room,  to  wait 
for  the  announcement  of  dinner,  the  excitement 
of  both  -was  suffocating.  Frequently  their  voices 
were  broken  and  harsh  until  they  moistened  their 
throats  with  -wine.  And  yet  until  dessert  they 
were  never  alone  for  a  minute;  butler  or  foot- 
man remained  punctiliously  in  the  room.  Spen- 
ser had  dwelt  at  first  upon  the  possibility  of 
contriving  on  these  evenings  without  constant 
attendance;  but  it  would  have  presented  too 
extraordinary  an  appearance,  and  he  dared  not. 
And,  as  it  was,  to  sit  opposite  to  Ellice,  with- 
out the  jarring  accompaniment  of  Mrs.  Sinclair, 
had  an  intoxicating  quality.  Her  lovely  smiling 
head  was  all  he  saw,  while  her  voice  held  him, 
quieting  his  nerves  like  a  lullaby,  steeping  him 
in  peace  and  well-being.  He  liked  to  see  her  eat, 
to  watch  her  raise  her  glass  to  her  lips,  catch 
the  passing  gleam  of  little  enticing  teeth.  Sitting 
there  opposite  to  him,  quietly  gay,  or  serious  in 
her  habitual  temperate  fashion,  she  appeared  to 
him  all  his  own  at  last.  She  might  actually  be 
his  wife. 

During  these  days  they  reassumed  the  nearest 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  225 

approach  to  their  old  manner  toward  one  an- 
other that  they  had  done  since  Spenser's  marriage. 
The  table  was  between  them ;  the  protecting  male 
servant  hovered  about  the  sideboard.  Ellice,  se- 
cure in  Spenser's  obligatory  good  conduct,  yielded 
to  the  sweetness  of  the  moment.  It  would  have 
sent  the  blood  out  of  her  face  had  she  known 
how  openly  these  meals  were  condemned  by  the 
world  downstairs.  For  to  neither  was  there  the 
least  realization  of  the  immense  unconscious  be- 
trayal of  their  manner,  of  the  glaring  contrast 
between  the  gloom  pervading  all  other  meals  since 
Gillette's  illness  and  the  sparkling  gayety  of  these. 
It  was  the  quarter  of  an  hour's  tete-a-tete  for 
dessert,  however,  which  made  these  meals  both 
so  dangerous  and  so  dear.  The  servants  had  no 
sooner  left  the  room  than  a  force  greater  than 
his  own  seemed  to  draw  Spenser  from  his  seat. 
With  a  decanter  in  his  hand,  for  fear  the  servant 
might  return  unheard  by  them,  he  came  to  kiss 
the  white  neck  that  maddened  him,  the  eyelids 
that  drooped  as  he  approached.  Every  time  there 
was  the  same  appeal  from  the  girl,  the  same  al- 
most mechanical  resistance,  the  same  final  sub- 
mission. 

"It  helps  me  through  the  days.    I  live  on  it," 
the  other  would  murmur  in  her  ear. 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Ellice  would 
rise  hastily  from  her  seat.  Then  Spenser  would 
once  more  kiss  the  soft,  warm  shoulders  where 
the  dress  commenced,  and  himself  draw  the  lace 
over  them.  They  went  upstairs  together,  and 
brooded  over  the  meal  far  into  the  night. 
15 


226  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

Except  for  these  dinners,  they  were  rarely  alone 
together.  Ellice  passed  most  of  the  day  in  Gil- 
lette's room,  while  Crawford's  constant  presence 
in  the  house  additionally  helped  to  frustrate  fre- 
quent tete-a-tetes.  A  sense  of  excitement  alive 
in  the  air,  however,  restrained  Spenser  from  an- 
other attempt  at  forcing  matters.  The  entire 
condition  of  the  house  was  clearly  transitory. 
And  in  the  meantime  she  was  at  least  under  the 
same  roof  with  him.  Every  third  night  they 
dined  together,  and  for  a  few  minutes  could  fling 
off  the  leaden  weight  of  duplicity  and  repression. 
There  were  unsought,  unexpected  moments  at 
other  times  when  chance  would  be  kind  to  them. 
One  evening  Mrs.  Sinclair,  reading,  while  he  and  El- 
lice  played  bezique  in  the  library,  moved  into  the 
music-room,  opening  out  of  the  former,  in  order 
to  lie  on  the  more  comfortable  sofa  in  the  latter 
apartment.  Instantly  Spenser  reached  across  the 
narrow  table  dividing  himself  and  Ellice,  and 
drew  her  face  to  his,  by  enclosing  it  in  his  hands. 
Without  a  sound  he  pressed  her  lips  against  his 
own.  Then,  as  she  withdrew  her  head,  he  wrote 
in  pencil  on  a  part  of  an  old  envelope : 

"It  is  healing.  Your  lips  cure  me  physically  as 
well  as  mentally." 

Ellice  read  it,  flung  it  into  the  fire,  and  they 
continued  their  game,  while  Mrs.  Sinclair  inter- 
rupted her  reading  every  few  minutes  to  call  out 
some  remark  to  them.  Spenser  meant  what  he 
wrote,  but  he  also  knew  that  this  plea  of  ill- 
health  was  the  most  powerful  incentive  he  could 
use  to  move  Ellice.  It  both  troubled  her  and  be- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  227 

wildered  her  theory  of  duty.  Occasionally,  when 
taken  with  a  fit  of  coughing,  he  saw  a  look  of 
perturbed  vacillation  enter  her  eyes.  Again  and 
again,  therefore,  he  reiterated,  when  for  a  brief 
second  they  were  out  of  earshot : 

"You  can  give  me  death  or  life.  I  could  get 
rid  of  this  infernal  cold  in  a  week  if  there  was  a 
hope  left  to  live  for." 

Her  eyes  would  fasten  on  his  then  with  a  look 
of  alarmed  inquiry.  She  did  not  know  how  much 
to  believe,  and  the  uncertainty  increased  the  in- 
decision of  her  thoughts.  At  last  one  day,  when 
he  said  the  same  thing  to  her,  as  they  were  on 
their  way  upstairs  to  Gillette,  as  if  unable  longer 
to  bear  the  cadaverous  vision  thrust  perpetually 
upon  her  brain,  she  turned  toward  him  abruptly. 

"How  unutterably  cruel  you  are !  Don't  you  see 
you  make  me  a  murderess  either  way?  You  will 
not  spare  me.  You  will  have  nothing  else." 

The  emotion  in  her  voice  was  very  great.  It 
vibrated  as  if  quivering  under  a  violent  repres- 
sion of  will,  as  if,  had  she  let  loose  all  that  hud- 
dled within,  there  would  have  poured  out  such 
a  flood  of  writhing,  anguished  sentences  he  must 
have  staggered  back  under  their  onslaught. 

They  went  on  in  silence,  but  as  they  passed 
along  the  corridor  to  his  wife's  bedroom  Spenser 
glanced  keenly  at  his  companion.  She  was  look- 
ing down,  and  her  eyelashes  against  her  cheek 
had  a  lustrous  look,  as  if  she  had  put  some  fine 
oil  upon  them.  Her  mouth,  however,  was  like 
scarlet  silk,  and  this  it  never  became  except  in 
moments  of  extreme  and  usually  painful  excite- 


228  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

ment.  At  the  sight  Spenser  experienced  a  feeling 
of  compunction.  In  the  face  of  his  feverish  pro- 
testations of  wishing  to  devote  his  whole  life  to 
her,  he  was  hour  by  hour  consciously  causing  her 
to  suffer.  This  feint  of  succumbing  to  his  weak- 
ness through  sheer  lack  of  will  to  live  was  a  mean 
and  cowardly  move.  He  would  have  none  of  it 
for  the  future.  She  should  be  conquered  without 
that. 

They  found  Gillette  markedly  better.  Slightly 
flushed  with  the  recent  effort  of  being  dressed, 
she  was  sitting  up  in  an  armchair.  Two  white 
pillows  supported  her  head,  and  she  had  on  a 
white  cashmere  wrapper  with  accordion  folds. 
Some  hot-house  lilac  Crawford  had  sent  stood 
on  the  table  at  her  side,  and  in  a  touching  mala- 
dive  fashion  there  was  something  quite  attractive 
in  her  appearance.  For  the  coarse  color,  the  fat- 
ness of  cheek  and  jaw,  were  gone.  What  remained 
was  the  beautiful,  quiet  brow,  the  large,  benevo- 
lent eyes,  the  simplicity  and  spirituality  of  the 
expression.  Ellice,  coming  in  from  the  recent 
tumultuous  encounter  on  the  stairs,  to  find  her 
all  whiteness  and  calm,  could  have  knelt  at  her 
feet  and  poured  the  -whole  turmoil  out  of  her 
soul  with  a  cry  for  absolution  and  help. 

"Why,  Gillette,  how  pretty  you  look!  Do  you 
know,  you  grow  more  good  to  look  at  every  day." 
she  said,  kneeling  at  the  other's  feet,  and  looking 
up  with  a  smile  Gillette  perceived,  with  surprise, 
to  be  full  of  sadness. 

Presently  Spenser  left  them.  The  baby  had  been 
put  to  sleep  in  the  other  room,  and  Gillette,  never 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  229 

quite  at  peace  when  she  could  not  turn  her  eyes 
at  least  now  and  again  to  the  flowing  white  cur- 
tains, within  which  lay  the  little  life  so  dear  to 
her,  badly  needed  Ellice's  company:  for  already 
this  child  had  grown  so  precious  she  stumbled  to 
find  words  in  which  to  thank  God  for  the  treasure 
entrusted  to  her.  Responsibility  was  as  yet  only  a 
passionate  sweetness.  The  small  body  the  soul 
slumbered  in  asked  at  present  merely  love,  and 
love  she  had  more  almost  than  she  could  hold. 
Even  in  her  sleep  the  nurse  frequently  overheard 
her  muttering  the  words,  "My  baby,  my  baby!" 
as  if  in  ecstasy. 

He  never  stirred  but  her  ears  heard  it.  "Nurse, 
baby  wakes,  I  think,"  she  would  whisper  in- 
stantly, her  heart  fluttering  to  have  him  im  her 
arms.  And  her  greatest  of  the  day's  joys  was 
to  see  him  got  ready  by  the  fire  for  his  evening 
putting  to  bed.  Full  of  fears,  if  the  nurse  but 
took  her  hands  off  to  reach  powder  or  his  little 
articles  of  clothing,  out  stretched  her  arms  intui- 
tively. The  wonderful  mystery  of  this  infinitely 
small  being,  that  was  hers  of  right  to  cherish 
and  guard,  filled  her  with  incomparable  consola- 
tion. In  her  prayers  gratitude  for  the  tender 
dealings  of  God  now  took  on  an  additional  in- 
tensity. They  would  not  permit  her  to  kneel, 
but  in  her  long  silent  communions  with  the  Di- 
vine Being,  tears  fell  often  like  thin  streams  be- 
tween the  fingers  covering  her  face. 

"Mrs.  Spenser — dear  Mrs.  Spenser! — are  you 
overtired  and  depressed?  I  cannot  have  my  pa- 
tient crying,"  the  nurse  said  to  her  once.  It  was 


230  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

seldom  she  nursed  a  patient  who  aroused  so  sin- 
cere an  affection,  and,  seeing  many  things  that 
inclined  her  to  believe  Mrs.  Spenser's  married 
life  was  not  as  happy  as  it  should  be,  she  sup- 
posed these  tears  to  flow  from  bitter  thoughts. 
To  her  surprise,  Gillette  looked  up  with  a  smile 
of  unmistakable  peacefulness. 

"I  did  not  know  I  was  crying,"  she  replied, 
with  a  slight  confusion  of  manner.  "But  I  am  so 
unworthy  of  all  the  blessings  God  has  given  me : 
the  tears  may  have  come  from  that." 

For  a  little  while  after  Spenser  had  left  them 
that  afternoon  Ellice  read  aloud  to  her.  Since 
Crawford's  readings  Gillette  had  ceased  indis- 
criminately to  reject  modern  fiction.  She  enjoyed 
being  read  to  now  immensely,  Ellice  being  in- 
variably careful  to  avoid  all  books  with  fla- 
grantly wicked  theories  or  characters. 

When  it  grew  too  dark  to  read,  Ellice  sat  on, 
silently  looking  at  the  fire.  Suddenly  she  broke 
the  reflective  quietude  that  had  fallen  upon  them. 
Without  preface  of  any  sort,  she  said  abruptly : 

"Gillette,  your  love  of  God  is  like  another  wom- 
an's— mine,  for  instance — love  of  a  human  being. 
You  worship  your  God  because  you  are  a  woman, 
and  there  is  in  your  nature  an  absolute  need  to 
worship  somebody.  It  is  ingrained  in  you,  just 
as  in  the  average  woman  it  is  an  ingrained  ne- 
cessity to  idolize  a  husband  or  a  lover.  Your 
religion  is  only  the  natural  craving  to  adore 
somebody,  plus  a  spiritually  imaginative  temper- 
ament. I  adore  a  wan,  because  I  am  not  spir- 
itual, and  therefore  require  a  palpable  living  being 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  231 

I  can  see  and  touch.  But  au  fond  our  affections 
are  the  same.  Only  yours  is  an  absent  lover  you 
live  waiting  one  day  to  be  united  with,  whom 
you  communicate  with  now  only  from  a  distance, 
and  with  the  humble,  unworthy  sense  allowed 
to  become  rampant.  Mine,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
here,  visible,  indomitable,  more  potent  and  dan- 
gerous than  any  absentee  could  be.  You  make 
any  sacrifices  for  your  God,  and  it  is  accounted 
to  you  as  righteousness,  though  you  also  acquire 
through  them  the  joy  of  one  day  living  in  the 
ecstasy  of  His  presence.  If  I  make  a  sacrifice  for 
my  human  lover,  though  my  heart  tore  open  in 
the  doing  of  it,  I  should  be  branded  as  beyond 
redemption.  Yet  you — I  know  it — would  sacrifice 
your  husband  and  your  child  to  the  pleasure  of 
your  God.  But  I  must  sacrifice  nobody,  though 
my  lover's  life  were  short  and  his  very  existence 
waste  for  need  of  me.  Oh,  the  stupidity  of  it 
all,  the  perversity,  the  preposterous  dulness  of 
the  judgment!" 

For  a  minute,  as  she  listened,  Gillette  wondered 
whether  Ellice  had  suddenly  gone  mad.  Too 
weak  still  to  support  the  least  excitement,  her 
heart  commenced  to  beat  painfully,  while  a  swim- 
ming sensation  confused  her  brain.  Trembling 
violently,  she  answered : 
"Ellice  dear,  why  are  you  angry  with  me?" 
As  she  spoke  her  mind  cleared  a  little,  and  took 
knowledge  that  the  inexplicable  and  almost  vio- 
lent attack  upon  her  religion  had  been  a  wail  at 
some  sacrifice  prohibited  to  Ellice — some  sacrifice 
she  panted  to  make  for  the  sake  of  one  beloved. 


232  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

But  weakness  of  body  intervened  to  prohibit  her 
understanding  what  sacrifices  could  be  reprehen- 
sible. The  brain  still  oscillated  in  a  state  of  faint- 
ness  at  the  least  effort  to  work  it.  But  she  could 
feel  that  an  extreme  unhappiness  uttered  itself 
in  Ellice's  outburst.  She  added  quickly,  there- 
fore, in  a  voice  indistinct  with  agitation: 

"Dear,  if  I  could  only  help  you!  Could  I,  El- 
lice?" 

But  the  other  was  like  a  drunken  person  suddenly 
sobered  by  a  shock.  The  sight  of  Gillette's  cheeks 
stained  by  two  crimson  spots  and  the  sound  of 
her  laboriously  pumped  breath  filled  her  with  ter- 
ror. Already  the  imperative  impulse  that  had 
flung  thought  into  utterance  had  become  incom- 
prehensible. Gillette's  appearance  dismayed  her 
beyond  description.  What  if  she  had  made  her 
worse,  had  brought  about,  by  a  base,  brutal 
defamation,  another  relapse  in  the  being  she 
adored? 

Springing  to  her  feet,  she  drew  Gillette  gently 
back  against  the  pillows,  and,  with  her  cheek 
pressed  to  the  other's,  poured  pell-mell  a  flood 
of  tender  phrases  into  her  ear.  A  dozen  times 
she  repeated  that  she  had  spoken  under  the  im- 
pulsion of  a  temporary  insanity,  and  implored 
Gillette  to  let  the  lamentable  words  fall  out  of 
her  mind  as  meaningless. 

She  would  have  bitten  out  her  tongue  to  unsay 
the  previous  utterance.  The  indiscretion  of  it 
alone  filled  her  with  terror.  In  a  moment  of  wild- 
ness  she  had  practically  revealed  the  whole  situ- 
ation. Any  woman  but  Gillette,  with  the  clue 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  233 

thrust  into  her  hands,  would  in  a  day  or  two  at 
most  discover  everything.  She,  too,  broke  into 
an  icy  perspiration,  and  drops  of  ice  seemed  drip- 
ping into  her  heart.  Gillette  meanwhile  lay  back 
with  closed  lids.  Ellice,  trembling  with  fear,  held 
the  medicine  she  had  for  these  heart  attacks  to 
her  lips.  She  swallowed  it,  and  again  lay  with- 
out stirring.  To  Ellice,  holding  on  to  one  chill 
hand,  the  silence  concentrated  in  a  physical  agony 
at  the  back  of  her  neck.  A  hammer  seemed  to 
fall  in  even  blows  upon  the  nerves.  Besides  the 
immense  terror  for  Gillette's  state  of  health,  in 
the  appalling  silence  she  felt  as  if  the  truth  could 
not  but  pass  out  of  her  into  the  intelligence  of 
the  other ;  the  stillness  was  so  unnatural,  so  inimi- 
cal. 

At  last  Gillette  moved  her  head  feebly.  The 
relief  was  overpowering  to  Ellice,  as  if  both  had 
been  snatched  back  from  the  jaws  of  death. 

"Dearest,"  emanated  from  the  tired,  empty 
voice,  "I  understand  only — that  you  love — and 
you  are  not — happy.  The  rest — I  have  forgotten 
already." 

She  ceased,  exhausted,  and  Ellice's  remorse 
grew  sombre  once  more.  Speechless,  she  put  her 
arms  about  Gillette's  neck.  No  words  could  con- 
vey the  depth  of  shame,  regret,  and  anxiety  she 
felt.  There  was  another  painful  silence.  The  win- 
dow curtains  were  not  drawn  yet,  and  through 
the  darkening  room  the  light  outside  had  to  El- 
lice's  strained  nerves  a  deathly  gray  ness.  Had 
Gillette  died  while  she  waited,  she  would  hardly 
have  known  surprise,  so  piercingly  alarmed  was 


234  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

her  mind  at  this  second  attack  of  faintness.  Grad- 
ually, however,  it  receded.  Gillette  once  more 
wearily  lifted  the  fallen  lids.  Then,  suddenly,  in 
the  semi-darkness  Ellice  heard  a  sentence  that 
plunged  into  her  consciousness  like  an  enemy's 
sword-blade  through  the  flesh.  All  the  blood  was 
apparently  drawn  out  of  her  in  its  wake.  Yet 
the  words  were  but  just  audible. 

"Do  you  love  a  married  man,  Ellice?" 

Twice  the  girl  struggled  to  answer  with  a  lie, 
and  exclaim,  "No,  no!"  as  if  horror-stricken  at 
the  thought.  With  Gillette  this  simple  denial 
would  forever  preclude  suspicion.  But  she  could 
not — to  Gillette.  A  blind  impulse  impeded  her. 
Against  desire,  some  inner  quality  revolted  against 
this  lie  to  one  whose  soul  knew  only  truth  and 
beauty.  The  yearning  for  self-protection  was 
overpowered  by  it.  She  could  not,  she  could  not, 
though  intelligence  shrieked  in  her,  till  she  could 
hear  nothing  but  its  uproar,  that  this  denial  was 
her  one  supreme  means  of  salvation. 

"Yes,"  dropped  coldly  from  her  quivering  lips 
at  last.  A  second  after,  in  a  final  despairing 
effort,  she  was  on  her  knees  by  the  other's  chair. 

"Gillette,  for  my  sake  forget  this.  It  is  a  heart- 
ache of  the  past  that  still  flares  up  fitfully,  that 
is  all.  It  is  quite  over ;  you  have  no  need  to  fear 
for  me,  to  worry  for  me.  And  now  let  me  light 
the  lamp,  and  we  will  shake  off  all  remembrance 
of  my  foolish  nonsense." 

Gillette  let  her  do  as  she  wished.  She  placed 
the  lighted  lamp  on  the  table  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  Then  she  poked  up  the  fire  and  put  some 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  235 

fresh  coals  upon  it.  At  intervals  she  glanced  to 
see  if  Gillette  was  losing  the  unnatural  look  of 
the  last  half-hour.  The  latter  smiled  at  her,  but 
her  face  had  the  old  appearance  of  skin  drawn 
fleshless  over  the  bones  that  it  seemed  to  have 
lost  during  the  last  few  days.  Obviously,  the 
recent  scene  had  done  her  harm.  Sick  with  re- 
morse, Ellice  turned  away  and  drew  the  chintz 
curtains  across  the  windows. 

When  it  was  done  she  returned  to  a  chair  by 
Gillette's  side,  stroking  the  thin  hand  that  hung 
out  of  the  loose  white  sleeves  over  the  arm  of 
her  seat.  While  she  did  so  she  prayed  for  the 
nurse's  return.  If  Gillette  were  really  worse,  she 
would  at  least  know  what  to  do.  But  they  sat 
for  another  half-hour  undisturbed,  and  gradually 
Gillette  appeared  to  regain  strength.  At  the  end 
of  it  her  manner  was  completely  calm  again.  She 
broke  the  quietude,  indeed,  by  saying  coaxingly, 
as  if  trying  to  entice  Ellice  into  some  forbidden 
confederacy : 

"I  think  baby  ought  to  be  awake  by  now,  and 
come  in  to  be  undressed  for  the  night." 

The  remark  simplified  the  atmosphere  of  the 
room.  Ellice' s  nerves  relaxed  in  an  unutterable 
sense  of  fear  relieved. 

"I  will  go  and  see,"  she  answered  back  with 
the  same  air  of  entering  into  a  secret  guilty  un- 
dertaking. 

A  few  minutes  later  Gillette,  with  a  radiant 
smile,  held  the  child  in  her  arms  while  his  nurse 
made  the  necessary  preparations.  But  to  Ellice 
the  impassioned  gladness  that  played  about  the 


236  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

drawn  features  was  almost  wholly  painful.  It 
was  a  joy  so  repudiated  by  the  face  itself.  The 
hollows  of  the  eyes  in  their  brown  setting,  the 
great  darkness  where  the  cheek  fell  in,  the  pale, 
bluish  lips,  and  the  tremendous  prominence  of 
the  neck-bone,  gave  to  this  living,  young,  fresh- 
ening ardor  of  feeling  something  that  tugged  at 
the  heart-strings.  It  seemed  the  desire  of  life 
struggling  in  the  hands  of  death.  Ellice  found 
it  unendurable,  and  her  throat  grew  full  as  she 
watched  the  silent  ecstasy  of  Gillette's  mother- 
hood. That  evening  Mrs.  Sinclair,  Spenser,  and 
she  dined  together.  The  hospital  nurse  on  her 
return  found  the  patient  too  tired  for  anything 
but  quiet  and  bed.  It  -was  Ellice' s  own  turn  to 
dine  upstairs,  but  for  once  she  was  relieved  to 
escape  from  Gillette's  sick-room.  She  had  made 
a  fool  of  herself  there,  and  done  God  knew  what 
harm  to  her  friend.  At  dinner  she  ate  practically 
nothing.  This  disturbed  Spenser,  to  whom  any 
variation  of  mood  in  her  at  the  present  time  was 
replete  with  terrors.  The  meal  in  consequence 
passed  in  a  series  of  sparring  contests  between 
him  and  Mrs.  Sinclair,  whom,  for  all  her  kind- 
heartedness,  he  still  detested.  He  could  not  for- 
give her  for  being  his  mother-in-law.  During  the 
dangerous  period  of  Gillette's  illness,  it  is  true, 
their  mutual  antipathy  had  been  forgotten;  but 
since  the  commencement  of  her  convalescence  it 
had  flared  up  with  renewed  vigor.  Mrs.  Sinclair, 
utterly  dissatisfied  with  his  conduct  to  Gillette, 
made  no  effort  to  conceal  contempt.  If  it  were 
possible  to  insinuate  disgust  of  mere  money-hunt- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  237 

ers,  she  did,  and  she  frequently  enlarged  upon  the 
gratitude,  at  least,  a  man  owed  to  a  woman 
whom  he  had  married  for  money's  sake.  What 
she  said  was  mostly  absolutely  true,  but  in  the 
worst  possible  taste.  Spenser  usually  left  the 
room  when  an  outburst  loomed  imminent,  but  he 
hated  her  without  stinting.  The  grotesque  part 
of  it  was,  he  felt,  that  this  money  she  flung  in 
his  teeth  had  already  become  valueless  to  him. 
She  was  welcome  to  every  farthing  of  it  if  she 
would  only  take  herself  and  her  daughter  away 
along  with  it. 

As  a  rule,  however,  he  refused  her  the  gratifi- 
cation of  rejoinder.  On  this  particular  evening, 
harassed  by  the  fact  that  Ellice  was  either  un- 
well or  recently  disquieted,  he  smothered  anxiety 
under  a  flow  of  bitter  repartee  with  his  mother- 
in-law. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  had  grown  crimson  when  she  and 
Ellice  passed  into  the  drawing-room.  The  mo- 
ment the  dining-room  door  closed  behind  them 
her  wrath  found  utterance: 

"Oh,  my  dear,  what  a  fool  I  was  when  I  urged 
the  child  on  to  this  marriage !  As  if  I  didn't  know 
that  there  were  two  sorts  of  men  one  should 
never  marry:  the  man  with  a  sallow,  bilious- 
looking  complexion,  and  the  man  with  a  purply- 
red  complexion  and  a  short  neck.  My  dear,  you 
can  take  it  from  me,  both  are  impossible.  The 
one  is  like  my  beautiful  son-in-law  here,  bitter 
without  heart,  cruel,  full  of  suspicion,  and  what 
I  call  any  peases— all  gall  and  intrigue.  But, 
there,  the  other  ain't  much  better.  They've  got 


238  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

no  control,  the  other  sort;  the  blood  is  always 
going  to  their  heads.  'Pshaw!'  is  their  favorite 
cry,  and  for  two  pins  they're  fit  to  strike  you. 
They  make  you  live  in  squalls  and  commotion 
from  morning  till  night,  always  making  a  row 
for  nothing.  But,  goody !  I'd  sooner  have  your 
choleric  man  than  a  creature  like  this,  without 
a  genial  drop  of  blood  in  the  whole  of  his  con- 
stitution. They're  always  deliberately  cruel,  these 
sort.  Oh,  it  makes  me  ill  to  think  I  sort  of  con- 
nived and  pushed  the  girl  into  it.  But,  thank 
God,  she's  got  the  baby;  that'll  satisfy  her.  If 
ever  a  woman  was  born  to  be  a  mother,  that 
woman's  my  Gillette,  bless  her!" 

Ellice  stood  by  the  mantelpiece.  She  made  no 
answer,  and  her  face  remained  impassive.  When 
Mrs.  Sinclair  ceased  speaking,  she  turned  and  left 
the  room.  Hah"  unconsciously  she  was  repeating 
silently  to  herself  one  phrase  in  the  recent  decla- 
mation : 

"But,  thank  God,  she's  got  the  baby;  that'll 
satisfy  her." 


CHAPTER  XX 

Gillette  was  in  no  way  worse  next  day  for 
what  had  occurred.  Gradually  she  continued  her 
progress  toward  recovery,  while  never  by  the 
feeblest  sign  did  she  give  Ellice  to  understand 
that  she  retained  any  recollection  of  their  singu- 
lar conversation.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  had  on 
several  occasions  distressingly  occupied  her  mind. 
Not,  that  is,  the  complaint  Ellice  had  made 
against  her  own  belief.  That  she  knew  by  intui- 
tion to  have  been  purely  the  consequence  of  a 
pain  any  violent  contortion  eases.  It  had  hurt 
her  at  the  moment,  but  the  hurt  had  soon  passed. 
A  prayer  all  her  being  uplifted,  and  the  calm  was 
clear  and  limpid  once  more.  Only  sin  could  put 
permanent  unquiet  into  the  soul.  What  had  per- 
sisted was  the  very  vivid  memory  of  Ellice's  suf- 
fering. She  could  recall  even  the  vibration  in  the 
other's  voice,  that  had  made  her  outcry  so  pierc- 
ing. And  she  loved  a  man  already  married.  Gil- 
lette experienced  no  horror  at  the  statement. 
She  simply  mourned  over  it,  as  a  great  irremedi- 
able calamity,  her  heart  aching  for  the  terrible 
force  stirred  only  to  be  suppressed  and  conquered. 
Over  Ellice  her  thoughts  yearned  sick  with  sym- 
pathy, and  she  prayed  for  her  quick  delivery  from 
this  barren  love,  until  she  fell  back  exhausted  in 
her  chair. 

Once    her    thoughts    wandered    almost    uncon- 


240  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

sciously  among  Ellice's  married  acquaintances. 
She  drew  them  back  abruptly,  ashamed  and  mis- 
erable. Ellice  had  asked  her  to  forget;  the  least 
speculation  on  this  subject,  therefore,  rendered 
her  guilty  of  a  broken  compact.  Never  again, 
in  consequence,  did  she  permit  herself  a  second's 
conjecture  upon  the  matter. 

A  fortnight  later  she  went  downstairs  for  the 
first  time.  She  was  carried  down  in  a  chair,  es- 
corted by  quite  a  cortege  of  loving  attendants — 
her  mother,  Ellice,  Spenser,  and  the  hospital  nurse. 
As  she  left  her  room,  moreover,  a  bunch  of  hot- 
house roses  was  handed  to  her  by  the  maid.  Mr. 
Crawford  had  brought  them  in  celebration  of 
Mrs.  Spenser's  first  trip  downstairs.  Later  on 
in  the  day  he  had  been  given  permission  to  see 
her  for  a  little  while. 

Ever  since  the  commencement  of  her  long  con- 
valescence, he  had  sent  her  daily  messages  through 
Mrs.  Sinclair,  and  received  some  brief  answer  in 
return.  This  interchange  of  friendly  sentences 
had  been  a  great  pleasure  to  Crawford.  He  felt 
kept  by  it  still  to  some  slight  extent  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  gentle  goodness  that  had  grown  so 
attractive  to  him.  Besides,  since  he  no  longer 
saw  Gillette,  his  imagination  had  woven  a  mul- 
titude of  charming  sentimentalities  concerning  her. 
At  the  end  of  a  month  he  remembered  his  read- 
ings in  the  red  lamp-light  as  one  of  the  most  de- 
lightful episodes  of  recent  years. 

He  had,  however,  sufficient  common  sense  to 
anticipate  upon  the  first  re-meeting  a  temporary 
disappointment,  facing  it  not  without  amusement. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  241 

For  a  minute  or  two  the  reality  would  fall  so 
flat.  But  in  the  meantime  a  certain  amount  of 
imaginative  license  gave  flavor  to  this  delicate 
daily  talk  with  his  unseen  lady  friend ;  and  in  the 
future  the  old  charm  of  her  disposition  would 
soon  once  more  amply  compensate  for  physical 
deficiencies.  Indeed,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was 
really  most  satisfactory  that  she  should  not  be 
attractive  in  the  fashion  he  chose  half  to  believe 
her  in  her  absence.  It  was  just  the  fact  that  one 
could  never  fall  in  love  with  Mrs.  Spenser  which 
made  her  influence  so  soothing.  While,  now  she 
had  a  baby,  the  kind  of  charm  he  desired  to  reach 
at  through  her  would  be  absolutely  complete. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  existence  he  would  rea- 
lize the  mystic  grace  of  that  motherhood  Roman 
Catholicism  had  used  with  such  effect. 

For  with  Gillette,  he  felt  intuitively,  mother, 
hood  would  prove  the  immense  emotion  that  over- 
turns an  existence;  she  and  the  child  were  al- 
ready one.  The  tenderness  of  her  love  would  be 
an  atmosphere;  it  would  cling  about  her  like  a 
perfume,  giving  her  impalpable  sacred  beauty. 

When  Mrs.  Sinclair,  therefore,  came  into  the 
library  and  told  him  that  Gillette  was  ready  to 
receive  him,  he  experienced  quite  a  flutter  at  his 
heart.  He  had  never  quite  thrown  out  of  mem- 
ory the  agony  of  the  eyes  as  he  had  last  seen 
them  on  the  first  night  of  her  illness.  As  they 
walked  to  her  room  he  could  feel  the  cold  mois- 
ture of  the  hand  as  it  had  lain  in  his  palm. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  flung  open  her  door  with  a  little 
air  of  triumph. 
16 


242  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

"There  she  is,  our  poor  little  ghost.  Isn't  she 
a  sorry  thing,  Mr.  Crawford,  to  have  about  the 
house?" 

Crawford  halted  a  second  at  the  door,  silent 
with  astonishment  and  emotion.  Then  he  went 
and  took  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him,  saying 
in  an  unsteady  voice: 

"Ah,  but  this  is  the  happiest  day  I  have  known 
since  I  saw  you  last,  Mrs.  Spenser." 

In  truth,  he  felt  the  sight  of  her  a  pleasure  alto- 
gether overleaping  any  he  had  anticipated.  He 
could  have  shouted  over  it  like  a  school-boy. 
Once  more  he  had  her,  this  woman,  who  em- 
bodied all  noble  influences  to  him,  whom  only 
to  know  gave  the  desire  to  live  more  worthily, 
whose  speech  affected  him  like  cold  water  down 
a  throat  dry  with  spirits.  Yet  his  stupefaction 
at  the  change  in  her  had  been  also  great.  She 
was  his  spiritualizing  influence  unaltered,  but 
she  was  no  longer  the  woman  whose  outward 
appearance  it  required  a  little  time  to  grow 
content  with.  In  her  white  wrapper,  against  a 
pile  of  old-silk-covered  cushions,  she  was  to  Craw- 
ford genuinely  beautiful. 

He  beamed  with  contentment,  finding  her  ap- 
pearance suddenly  exquisite.  True,  it  was  not 
the  disturbing  distinction  of  features  that  bewil- 
ders a  man's  head  and  intoxicates  his  pride.  It 
was  something  infinitely  more  sweet,  benignant, 
and  indescribable — a  gentle  radiance  from  within, 
a  soft  suffusion  bringing  peace  to  all  who  gazed 
upon  it.  Crawford,  seeing  her  all  in  white  on 
her  rose-and-white  sofa,  with  the  excessive  color 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  243 

gone  from  her  face,  and  her  milk-white  throat 
bare  above  the  frills  of  her  wrapper,  would  never 
have  hesitated  for  a  moment  if  called  upon  to 
choose  between  the  looks  of  Ellice  and  Gillette. 
Miss  Bastien's  he  felt  as  if  half  due  to  a  clever 
trick.  This  was  profound  and  inimitable,  warm 
to  the  heart  like  the  breast  of  a  bird,  and  simple 
like  the  flowers,  the  country — like  anything  that 
is  unconscious  and  good. 

He  stayed  with  her  half  an  hour.  She  said 
nothing  save  little  simple  sentences,  uttered  in  a 
weak,  tired  voice;  but  he  left  her  conscious  of 
immeasurable  comfort  and  happiness.  Life  had 
once  again  become  warm  and  homely  and  beauti- 
ful. He  could  not  account  for  the  degree  of  his 
own  inner  exhilaration,  while  his  one  desire  was 
to  fill  the  interval  between  this  and  their  next 
meeting  with  some  action  that  could  genuinely 
be  called  good  or  useful.  The  physical  apathy 
gaining  upon  him  owing  to  his  immense  corpu- 
lence was  temporarily  dispersed,  and  he  walked 
out  of  the  house  trying  ardently  to  discover  a 
possible  thing  to  do,  of  a  nature  she  might  ap- 
prove. 

After  this  first  meeting  he  saw  her  frequently; 
for  slowly,  without  relapses,  she  struggled  back 
into  semi-health,  week  by  week  finding  herself 
capable  of  more  fatigue,  until  by  the  spring  she 
seemed  to  have  gained  all  the  strength  she  was 
likely  to  recover.  That  she  would  never  be  phys- 
ically the  same  woman  was  by  that  time  clear 
to  everybody.  It  was  Gillette  paled,  attenuated, 
enfeebled  in  walk  and  carriage.  As  for  the  child, 


244  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

it  continued  puny,  weak,  pitiable  to  look  at, 
taking  no  roots  in  healthy  life.  From  the  nursery 
issued  incessantly  a  little  wailing  sound.  There 
was  no  happiness  in  the  child,  no  capacity  for 
peace.  To  Ellice  it  seemed  as  if  the  unrest  of  his 
father's  life  had  descended  into  his  tiny  spirit, 
and  that  he  pined  night  and  day  to  be  saved 
from  the  misery  of  living.  She  never  looked  at 
the  infant  without  the  unwilling  conviction  that 
it  would  never  live,  that  in  a  few  months  or 
weeks  its  immense  reluctance  would  have  con- 
quered, and  Gillette's  baby  no  longer  exist  as 
the  salve  to  heal  the  wound  she  (Ellice)  was  be- 
ing hourly  dragged  nearer  to  making. 

Throughout  the  remainder  of  the  -winter  she 
stayed  in  the  house.  That  the  only  proper  action 
was  to  go  away  had  frequently  caused  her  to 
propose  departure.  But  even  as  she  did  so  she 
knew  that  in  reality  it  was  not  in  the  smallest 
degree  a  means  of  escaping  danger.  So  long  as 
she  remained  in  the  house  Spenser  was  to  some 
small  extent  pacified.  When  a  mood  of  morose 
unrest  seized  him,  she  became  the  inconsequent, 
laughing,  almost  passionately  light-hearted  crea- 
ture he  adored.  All  that  he  loved  in  her  she 
knew  by  heart,  having  during  the  several  years 
of  their  intimacy  coaxed  it  out  of  him,  without 
his  knowing  the  extent  of  the  confessions  made. 
And  everything  he  loved,  to  a  very  pose  or  ges- 
ture, she  gave  him  judiciously,  deliberately,  with 
the  quiet  serenity  he  loved,  too,  and  an  inward 
heartache  that  rendered  her  least  spontaneous 
actions  absolutely  selfless 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  245 

Once  she  had  labored  for  her  own  happiness  as 
much  as  his.  Since  his  marriage  all  question  of 
personal  delight  had  dropped  sheer  out  of  her. 
She  loved  him  inimitably,  and,  apparently,  as  he 
was  married,  immorally,  but  certainly  with  only 
one  desire,  his  happiness.  When  the  day  came, 
as  inevitably  she  believed  it  would  come,  that 
he  forced  her  into  shaking  the  heavy  warmth  of 
respectability  off  her  shoulders,  she  would  at  least 
be  able  truly  to  swear  to  herself  that  the  action 
was  not  for  personal  passion.  She  loved  him,  and 
he  was  wretched — what  could  she  do?  Had  he 
come  to  her  and  stated  that  peace  for  him  lay 
in  the  power  of  another  -woman,  she  would  have 
experienced,  below  her  anguish,  a  genuine  sense 
of  relief. 

It  was  not  the  loss  of  respectability  that  bur- 
dened her  soul.  Several  years  ago  it  would  have 
cost  much  to  discard.  Now  a  woman  of  nearly 
thirty,  she  understood  that,  between  the  choice 
of  a  place  in  society  and  a  place  in  the  life  of  her 
lover,  it  was  the  latter  she  did  wiser  to  select. 
Every  temperament  has  its  own  needs.  For  hers 
this  was  imperative.  Her  life  became  motiveless 
if  she  dissevered  it  from  Spenser's.  Between  a 
course  of  conduct  defined  as  immoral,  and  the 
waste  of  all  the  one  peculiar  capacity  granted 
to  her,  power  to  keep  this  one  human  being  not 
only  contented,  but  actually  in  a  thin,  pale 
fashion  tender  and  unselfish,  she  made  no  pause 
at  all.  Life  had  been  given  her  mysteriously,  un- 
requested,  and  without  explanation.  She  had 
been  flung,  destitute  of  chart  or  plummet,  upon 


246  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

the  unfathomable  seas  of  existence.  Why?  To 
that  none  gave  answer.  For  what  reason,  then, 
should  she  take  any  way  but  that  which  the 
equally  inexplicable  tendency  of  her  own  temper- 
ament dictated?  Who  could  incontrovertibly  as- 
sert that  it  was  not  the  one  only  course  right 
for  her,  the  one  supreme  reason  for  her  existence? 
The  immorality  did  not  weigh  a  feather's  weight. 
She  loved  Spenser  vastly  more  than  she  did  her 
reputation.  But  Gillette  lay  like  lead  nailed  deep 
into  her  heart.  For  now  that  Gillette  had  the 
child,  Spenser's  constant  "Come  away,  come 
away!  this  is  a  farce,  killing  in  its  idiocy!" 
grew  more  and  more  constraining.  She  felt  re- 
sistance each  time  like  ground  slipping  under  her 
feet.  Gillette  had  not  only  her  God,  so  sustain- 
ing and  joy-giving,  but  this  nearer  and  dearer  pos- 
session still — her  baby !  Already  she  was  wrapped 
up  in  it,  all  the  rich  excesses  of  feeling  in  her  na- 
ture winding  themselves  in  a  tremulous  delight 
round  the  child  she  had  brought  forth.  Spen- 
ser's absence  from  her  life  would  deprive  her  of 
nothing ;  he  brought  into  it  no  warmth,  no  affec- 
tion, no  guidance,  not  even  a  surface  geniality 
or  companionship.  She  would  be  more  at  peace 
\vithout  him.  To  judge  an  action  without  knowl- 
edge of  every  single,  intimate  circumstance  creat- 
ing it,  was,  she  discovered  in  her  fevered  stay  at 
Rook  House,  not  actually  to  deal  with  the  action 
at  all.  It  would  not  be  a  flagrant  sin,  her  own 
and  Spenser's  elopement,  under  the  real  condition 
of  affairs,  because  the  sufferer,  the  abandoned 
wife,  practically  lost  nothing  by  the  event. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  247 

But  this  child — her  one  prayer  for  it  was  health. 
She  haunted  the  nursery,  with  eyes  perpetually 
seeking  to  perceive  if  it  put  on  flesh.  If  this  child 
died,  then  Spenser's  supplications  would  fall  on  a 
ground  of  stone.  She  could  not  go  away  then — 
Gillette's  need  would  draw  the  power  of  consent 
out  of  her.  Once,  holding  the  baby  in  her  arms 
for  a  second,  while  the  mild-looking  nurse  left  the 
room,  she  whispered  insanely  to  it  to  get  strong, 
to  throw  off  its  heart-breaking  indecision,  and  to 
live  to  be  the  flower  and  perfume  of  its  mother's 
days. 

Four  months  passed  before  he  was  christened, 
Gillette's  condition  causing  perpetual  delay.  Then, 
in  the  early  spring,  she  suddenly  decided  that  it 
must  be  soon.  They  were  at  luncheon — Spenser, 
Ellice,  Gillette  and  her  mother.  Both  Ellice  and 
Mrs.  Sinclair  had  just  spoken  of  leaving.  Gillette 
was  about  again,  the  doctor  declared  baby  to 
be  really  picking  up:  they  had  no  excuse  to  re- 
main. It  was  their  talk  of  departure  which 
caused  Gillette  to  propose  a  speedy  christening. 
That  they  must  stay  for;  why,  Ellice  was  to  be 
godmother. 

Spenser  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation, 
but  as  she  said  the  last  words  a  sudden  antag- 
onism to  the  suggestion  took  possession  of  him. 
He  had  heard  of  the  arrangement  before.  At  its 
first  proposal  he  had  even  felt  a  certain  pleasure. 
It  drew  Ellice  sweetly  and  permanently  into  the 
family.  She  became,  as  it  were,  one  of  them, 
while  his  child  would  henceforward  in  a  vague 
fashion  appertain  to  her  also.  He  could  think 


248  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

of  it  as  a  little  Ellice's,  and,  since  she  had  con- 
sented to  be  associated  with  him,  could  regard 
it  with  a  new  tenderness. 

This  aspect  of  affairs  had  been  fleeting.  Ellice 
destroyed  it  that  same  evening  when  they  were 
dining  together.  During  the  few  minutes  between 
dessert  and  coffee,  as  he  came  round  to  sit  on 
the  arm  of  her  chair,  she  said,  dropping  the 
light  manner  she  had  maintained  during  their 
meal:  "George,  I  am  so  happy  to  be  baby's  god- 
mother— the  baby  that  is  yours  and  Gillette's." 

Immediately  the  idea  became  repulsive  to  him. 
In  her  manner  he  comprehended  instantly  and 
completely  the  sentiment  she  was  going  to  weave 
about  this  godmotherhood.  He  and  Gillette  were 
the  two  souls  she  cared  for  most  in  the  world. 
Their  child  was  going  to  be  for  her  the  coalition 
of  both.  And  the  fact  that  his  child  was  to  be, 
from  a  religious  point  of  view,  hers  also  would 
prove  the  safety-valve  of  all  the  dangerous  feeling 
accumulated  within  her.  The  love  of  its  parents, 
now  at  war,  would  stream  peacefully  upon  their 
baby — and  hers.  The  yearning  for  his  father 
should  sink  appeased  by  possession  of  this  little 
clinging  part  of  him.  Innocently,  tenderly,  the 
problem  of  life  would  be  disposed  of.  Give  her 
the  sentimental  tie  of  godmother  to  his  child, 
and  Ellice  became  entrenched  against  evil  per- 
suasion. 

He  knew  her.  Under  her  light  exterior  she  was 
all  fancy,  emotion,  sentiment.  Love  of  Gillette 
was  an  obstruction  quite  solid  enough  already; 
he  wanted  no  more  superadded  to  it.  After 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  249 

months  he  had  made  just  sufficient  progress  to 
feel  probable  months  still  ahead  of  him  before 
the  moment  of  actual  achievement.  Sentiment 
repulsed  him  at  every  encounter — a  queer,  un- 
happy sentiment  that  seemed  the  weakest,  most 
useless,  most  easily  destructible  thing  in  creation, 
that  wailed  interminably,  never  combative,  never 
violent,  but  inviolable,  plaintively  intact  from 
day  to  day;  in  appearance  fine  and  rendable  as 
gossamer,  but  to  the  hands  tearing  at  it  firm  as 
a  bar  of  iron. 

When  she  whispered  with  her  love-stricken  eyes, 
"I  cannot — I  cannot  give  Gillette  pain,"  the  voice 
was  so  broken,  so  weak,  Spenser  had  originally 
felt  a  kiss  would  brush  resistance  away.  Now 
he  knew  that,  stormed  by  a  hundred  kisses,  the 
cry  would  issue  from  the  wearied  lips  absolutely 
unchanged,  neither  stronger  nor  weaker :  "lean- 
not — I  cannot  give  Gillette  pain." 

And  every  day  his  worship  of  her  increased, 
his  need  of  her  intensified.  He  was  growing  old 
and  unattractive.  If  he  let  Ellice  go,  he  would 
slip  into  old  age  unloved,  unloving,  his  whole 
life  a  deplorable  absurdity,  empty  even  of  scan- 
dal. There  would  be  nothing  gained  from  it  but 
disgust. 

With  Ellice  his  wife  or  his  mistress  (pray  Heaven 
the  former),  something  would  have  been  achieved, 
something  stand  at  the  back  of  him.  Morally,  his 
life  might  never  be  justified ;  after  all,  morally  to 
justify  one's  existence  is  still  an  unproved  neces- 
sity. The  reason  to  suppose  rectitude  as  its  ex- 
cuse and  apology  is  a  mere  hypothesis;  but  to 


250  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

justify  one's  life  by  attaining  in  it  the  sole  supreme 
desire  of  one's  nature  was  an  achievement  reliev- 
ing personality  of  all  necessity  to  ask  why.  The 
exquisite  purpose  of  existence  flared  like  torch- 
light. Old,  one  could  peacefully  rub  thin  hands 
with  a  chuckle  over  the  past.  One  had  achieved 
one's  little  victory,  enjoyed  one's  little  moment, 
stacked  one's  small  intelligence  with  memories 
probably  the  best  to  have  accumulated,  since  truly 
after  one's  own  temperament. 

But  Ellice,  the  exquisitely  refined  and  subtilized 
folly  of  his  first  conceptions,  had  already  proved 
a  folly  that  at  the  least  cry  from  another  soul 
dropped  its  cap  and  bells  to  answer  with  a  quiv- 
ering responsiveness.  He  felt  in  his  dealings  with 
her  as  if  he  wrestled  night  and  day  with  a  com- 
batant he  could  neither  throw  nor  be  overthrown 
by.  Physically  as  well  as  mentally,  the  winter's 
contest  had  exhausted  him.  Ellice  was  not  wrong 
when  she  reckoned  the  situation  disastrous  to  his 
constitution.  But  at  last  he  commenced  to  feel 
victory  sure,  if  not  immediate.  Gillette's  wor- 
ship of  the  frail  life  given  by  destiny  to  be  her 
very  own  was  the  weapon  he  was  winning  with. 
Day  by  day  now  Ellice' s  resistance  enfeebled. 
Occasionally  she  made  none,  listening  to  his  plans 
in  silence,  -with  eyes  enfevered  and  half  childish 
in  their  unconscious  submission. 

Gillette  had  no  sooner  spoken,  therefore,  than 
he  felt  that,  at  any  cost,  Ellice  must  not  become 
his  son's  godmother.  He  looked  up  before  any 
one  could  answer,  and  his  remark  seemed  to  click 
in  his  mouth  through  the  sharpness  of  its  delivery. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  251 

"My  dear,  if  your  mother  is  not  to  be  god- 
mother, I  think  your  aunt  ought  to  be.  Forgive 
me,  Miss  Bastien,  but  to  teach  the  Catechism  to 
a  child  is  a  compliment  so  absurd  it  should  only 
be  paid  to  old  ladies,  -who  cannot  see  the  ab- 
surdity." 

All  three  women  gasped.  Spenser's  statement 
was  explosive,  and  its  abruptness  left  them  all 
for  a  moment  equally  startled.  Gillette's  aunt 
he  abhorred  with  an  openness  that  made  Gil- 
lette unable  to  receive  her  except  for  the  day. 
Now  he  proposed  her  as  godmother!  Gillette 
sat  silent,  conscious  of  a  confusion  of  mind  ren- 
dering her  thoughts  indefinite  and  unseizable. 
Mrs.  Sinclair  sought,  hastily  and  with  too  much 
wildness  for  success,  to  find  the  evil  explanation 
of  her  son-in-law's  proposal.  That  it  signified 
something  undesirable,  and  was  a  blow  somehow 
directed  against  his  -wife,  she  felt  assured.  Ellice 
also  preserved  a  puzzled  inertness.  Spenser's  mo- 
tives eluded  her,  and  his  decision  appeared  cruel 
as  well  as  disappointing.  All  her  heart  desired  to 
have  a  part  in  the  life  of  this  child  of  both.  She 
did  not  definitely  regard  it  as  the  means  to  evade 
elopement  with  Spenser;  but  at  intervals  an  ob- 
scure feeling  promised  assurance  that  this  flight 
would  become  impossible  if  she  became  actually 
godmother  to  Gillette's  baby.  With  an  incongru- 
ous simplicity,  she  imagined  that  to  Spenser,  also, 
the  temptation  would  be  gradually  lessened  by 
it.  She  became  part  of  his  life,  linked  for  the 
future  to  his  existence  by  a  spiritual  share  of 
possession  in  his  son.  There  would  be  a  bond 


252  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

between  them  at  last,  slight  but  real,  thin  but 
definite,  sanctioned,  abiding. 

Her  expression  of  entreaty  after  his  remark  -was 
so  intense  Spenser  felt  obliged  in  some  fashion  to 
meet  it.  He  turned  to  her  and  continued,  aware 
that  he  spoke  unnaturally: 

"You  look,  Miss  Bastien,  as  if  you  really  wanted 
to  inculcate  the  Catechism  into  the  childish  mind, 
and  I  don't  believe  you  even  know  it  yourself. 
But,  seriously,  would  you  mind  being  set  aside 
for  Aunt  Betsy?  To  tell  the  truth,  my  conscience 
is  somewhat  uneasy  as  regards  that  lady,  and 
such  an  admirable  opportunity  of  comforting 
her  self-esteem  is  too  obvious  to  be  missed.  Ask 
Gillette  if  I  am  not  right.  What  do  you  think, 
little  mother?" 

He  looked  across  at  Gillette,  and  spoke  sweetly. 
She  replied  primarily  by  turning  her  puzzled  eyes 
upon  him.  The  incident  even  to  her  was  uncanny. 
Even  she  had  difficulty  in  accepting  Spenser's 
sudden  conscientious  demeanor  toward  poor  Aunt 
Betsy.  After  a  pause,  she  said  gravely: 

"Yes,  auntie  would  be  pleased,  and  she  would 
love  baby  very  much.  But  I  want  Ellice  to  be 
godmother  most.  You  would  like  to  be,  wouldn't 
you,  dear?" 

"Yes,  very  much;  but,  of  course,  if  you  and — 
Mr.  Spenser — think  it  better — the  other  way " 

The  girl  spoke  with  a  hesitancy  that  had 
nothing  unnatural,  after  her  host's  plain  state- 
ment. 

Gillette  looked  with  a  troubled  expression  from 
her  friend  to  her  husband,  and  back  again.  Mrs. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  253 

Sinclair,  who  felt  that  the  matter  wanted  sifting, 
then  spoke: 

"Aunt  Betsy  would  be  quite  as  gratified  to  be 
asked  on  a  visit  here  as  to  be  godmother.  But, 
there,  we  three  women  can  settle  it.  After  all, 
you  two  girls  have  been  friends  more  than  half 
your  lives,  and  it's  only  natural  you  should 
stand  for  each  other's  babies.  You've  nothing 
to  do  with  this  at  all,  George.  You've  chosen  a 
godfather,  and  that's  your  share.  Not  but  that 
I  consider  Mr.  Crawford  as  good  a  choice  as  you 
could  have  made.  Now  we'll  go  into  the  morn- 
ing-room and  fix  it  up.  Aunt  Betsy  shall  be  made 
happy,  and  I'm  glad  she's  on  your  conscience  at 
last,  George.  It  was  quite  time." 

She  rose  as  she  finished  speaking.  Ellice  and 
Gillette  rose  also,  equally  uncomfortable  at  her 
terminating  sentence.  They  went  out  of  the  room 
with  her,  leaving  Spenser  at  the  table.  He  sat 
on,  feeling  horribly  angry.  Nevertheless,  he 
laughed  grimly  as  Mrs.  Sinclair  retreated.  For 
the  moment  she  had  scored,  and  the  foolishness 
she  had  robed  him  in  was  of  his  own  weaving. 
However,  the  best  laugh  is  notoriously  the  one 
that  comes  last,  and  that  he  meant  still  to  be 
his.  He  would  see  also  that  it  had  reason  to  be 
hearty  and  unspoiled. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

EUice  did  not  become  little  Patrick  Spenser's 
godmother,  though,  after  the  conference  in  Gil- 
lette's boudoir,  it  still  remained  an  undecided 
question.  Mrs.  Sinclair  alone  held  undisturbed 
conviction  that  to  listen  to  George  was  absurd; 
of  course  Ellice  must  stand  as  arranged.  The 
girl  herself  reiterated  her  desire,  but  half-heart- 
edly, with  a  hesitation  of  manner  the  pronounced 
wishes  of  one  parent  rendered  little  more  than  a 
necessity. 

Gillette,  though  extremely  anxious  to  have  El- 
lice,  became  gradually  uncertain  whether  she  was 
right  to  thwart  her  husband's  wishes.  Finally 
she  went  to  him,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
came  back  and  asked  Ellice  whether  she  would 
mind  giving  up  the  arrangement  they  had  made 
so  happily.  Her  husband  seemed  to  have  such 
strong  ideas  on  the  propriety  of  one  godparent 
at  least  being  of  the  family,  that  only  by  acting 
absolutely  against  his  wishes  could  the  present 
agreement  stand. 

Ellice  noticed  that  the  gentle  calm  of  her  man- 
ner was  flecked  with  uneasiness.  Speaking  low, 
that  Mrs.  Sinclair,  plunged  angrily  into  the  rec- 
ords of  the  Standard,  might  not  hear,  she  added, 
after  Ellice's  silent  reception  of  the  news : 

"Dearest,  I  am  so  sorry  about  this;  it  is  a 
great  disappointment  to  me,  too.  I  told  George 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  255 

you  would  mind  it,  but  he  said  he  could  only 
feel  that,  if  anything  happened  to  him  or  mother, 
Aunt  Betsy,  because  of  her  age  and  experience, 
could  be  a  great  help  to  baby.  You  and  I  would 
be  merely  two  girls,  he  said.  It  is  difficult  to 
folio w  a  man's  ideas  sometimes ;  but  George  must 
thinK  more  of  baby  and  me  than  he  will  admit. 
He  is  so  reserved.  I  am  often  frightened  that  I 
misjudge  and  wrong  him,  Ellice." 

For  a  second  Ellice  hated,  not  only  herself,  but 
Spenser,  who  had  sown  the  evil  in  her  that  now 
made  the  simplest  speech  of  her  friend  a  sword- 
thrust.  All  that  day  she  tried  to  find  an  oppor- 
tunity of  being  alone  with  Spenser.  None  was 
possible,  for  Spenser  made  no  effort  to  help  her. 
She  desired  an  awkward  explanation — one,  in  fact, 
he  did  not  know  yet  how  to  give. 

He  had  no  intention  of  telling  even  Ellice  his 
real  motive ;  it  would  revolt  her  and  retard  every- 
thing. All  that  day  he  could  conceive  no  plaus- 
ible statement.  It  came  to  him  finally  as  he  was 
having  his  bath  next  morning.  To  Ellice  he  would 
say  that  this  mock  motherhood,  this  farce  where 
he  craved  reality,  was  beyond  his  nerves.  To  see 
her  playing  this  meaningless  role  in  the  face  of 
his  illimitable  regrets  had  proved  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. 

After  breakfast,  as  they  all  stood  by  the  French 
windows,  looking  out  at  the  sun  on  the  lawn, 
he  asked  her  carelessly  to  come  for  a  stroll  while 
he  smoked  a  cigarette. 

Ellice  assented,  and  Gillette  removed  the  rose 
cre'pe  shawl  she  was  wearing,  and  which  had 


256  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

originally  belonged  to  Spenser's  mother,  to  fling 
it  over  the  girl's  shoulders. 

"Pick  me  some  of  the  flags  that  are  growing 
near  the  stream,"  she  said  as  Ellice  and  Spenser 
passed  into  the  delicate  warmth  of  the  morning 
sunshine. 

They  walked  for  some  time  on  the  path  round 
the  lawn  in  the  front.  Spenser's  explanation  was 
received  in  good  faith.  It  had  already  occurred 
to  Ellice  that  regret  for  the  real  motherhood  she 
might  have  possessed,  but  for  his  blindness,  lay 
at  the  root  of  the  matter.  And  she  made  no  re- 
monstrance, her  sweet  docility  to  any  accom- 
plished misfortune  being  one  of  the  traits  Spenser 
admired  so  much  in  her. 

The  lilac  was  in  full  bloom,  and  dripped  still 
with  rain  fallen  in  the  night.  Here  and  there  the 
rhododendron  bushes  flashed  patches  of  mauve 
or  crimson  upon  the  eye,  though  as  yet  they  had 
only  flowered  fitfully.  The  laburnum  was  a  blaze 
of  gold,  and  the  white  may- trees  looked  like  great 
pinions  spread  low  against  the  sky.  All  the  air 
•was  aromatic  with  faint,  sweet  odors.  The  col- 
ors of  the  spring  strewed  gayety  upon  the  earth. 

As  they  "walked  in  the  sunshine,  tremulously 
but  exquisitely  blithe,  Ellice  felt  as  if  the  hand 
of  coming  summer  was  madly  at  work  upon 
her  too.  As  if  in  answer  to  all  this  blossoming, 
to  all  this  perfume  and  color  and  light,  she  felt 
a  swift  responsive  cry  issue  from  her  own  na- 
ture, clamoring  to  be  allowed  its  own  way  also, 
to  be  permitted  to  throw  out  equal  flowers  of 
happiness,  and,  like  the  summer  that  was  so 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  257 

soon  to  follow  and  so  soon  to  end,  to  be 
granted  leave  once  richly  and  completely  to  bask 
in  revivifying  sunlight. 

She  felt  brusquely  uneasy.  As  she  walked  she 
found  herself  repeating : 

"Oh,  in  a  short,  bitter  life  to  be  happy  once; 
and  Gillette  has  baby — Gillette  has  baby."  Con- 
scious that  the  mood  was  dangerous,  she  said  to 
the  other,  moving  away  from  the  scented  borders : 
"Let  us  go  into  the  back  garden  and  pick  Gil- 
lette's irises." 

Gillette  had  meanwhile  gone  with  her  mother 
to  the  nursery  to  see  the  child  weighed.  This 
occurred  every  week,  while  she  stood  by  with 
galloping  heart-beats  to  hear  good  or  bitter 
news.  To-day  the  infant's  feeble  wail  at  the  per- 
formance startled  her.  He  cried  as  if  from  weaker 
and  more  weary  lungs  than  ever.  She  stood  star- 
ing at  the  tiny  form  in  its  short  flannel  shirt 
with  a  silence  that  palpitated. 

"Oh,  the  little  funny  baby  in  its  scales!"  Mrs. 
Sinclair  cooed  to  it,  smiling. 

Gillette  stood  motionless,  impregnated  with  new 
foreboding. 

The  little  Patrick  that  was  to  be  for  the  third 
time  weighed  less  than  the  week  previously.  Mrs 
Sinclair  looked  anxiously  at  the  nurse. 

"I  don't  understand,  do  you,  nurse?  and  I 
don't  like  it,"  she  said  uneasily.  "The  child's 
absurd  for  its  age.  This  humanized  milk  evi- 
dently suits  him  no  longer." 

Gillette  held  out  her  arms  to  the  child  without 
speaking.  In  a  silence  inexpressibly  piteous  she 
17 


258  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

drew  her  crying  baby  against  her  breast,  and  com- 
menced to  walk  to  and  fro  across  the  room  with  it. 

As  she  walked  she  prayed  for  this  unutterably 
precious  life,  but  with  her  soul  still  repeating  be- 
low, "Thy  will  be  done,  O  Lord— Thy  will  be  done." 

For  many  days  anxiety  had  ached  in  her  like 
a  tooth  decayed.  This  decrease  in  weight  solidi- 
fied the  floating,  uncertain,  almost  repudiated 
and  unallowed  terrors  of  weeks  past.  She  had 
hardly  yet  confessed  them  to  any  one.  But  she 
had  again  and  again  lately  shrunk  from  conver- 
sations about  baby,  both  with  her  mother  and 
the  nurse,  for  fear  of  some  ghastly  thing  they 
might  give  utterance  to.  Yet  they  had  never 
remarked  anything  except  that  he  grew  slowly, 
was  a  little  worry,  did  not  put  on  flesh  as  could 
be  wished.  But  this  third  week  -without  increase 
of  weight  tore  the  comfortable  bandages  off  Gil- 
lette's eyes.  She  saw  the  danger  close  to  her, 
felt  it  stand  solid,  with  no  movement  of  retreat. 
Uttering  a  low  cry,  Gillette  stood  suddenly  still. 
She  had  not  heard  a  word  of  the  conversation 
between  her  mother  and  the  nurse,  but  she  turned 
to  them  with  a  face  set  with  sudden  determination. 

'Mother,"  she  said  almost  brusquely,  "will  you 

send  a  telegram  to  Dr.  D for  me?  Now,  dear, 

at  once,  please.  I  am  troubled  about  baby." 

She  stood  expecting  a  protest,  a  hasty  reassur- 
ance. Mrs.  Sinclair's  face,  however,  betrayed  re- 
lief. As  a  matter  of  fact,  Gillette  had  only  fore- 
stalled her  own  proposal.  She  kissed  the  other's 
/-  ch??k  rapidly  once  or  twice. 

"Dear,  yc.,  a- ?  not  to  worry  yourself  to  death 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  259 

for  nothing.  Yes,  we  will  have  Dr.  D at  once ; 

but  there  is  no  real  necessity:  baby  is  only  a 
naughty  little  fellow  who  knows  how  to  scare 
an  inexperienced  mother.  Ah,  but  there,  you  are 
all  the  same  over  a  first.  If  it  doesn't  grow  like 
a  pig  you  are  at  once  frightened  out  of  your 
wits.  Ask  nurse  if  she  'asn't  had  worse  little 
morsels  to  rear.  It  is  the  business  of  babies  to 
keep  one  constantly  upset  for  a  year  or  two. 

Now  I'm  off  to  wire.  Dr.  D will  soon  put 

the  little  rascal  right." 

When  her  mother  had  left  the  room,  Gillette 
resumed  her  silent  pacing  backward  and  forward. 
Every  now  and  then  she  bent  and  kissed  with  a 
repressed  passion  the  tiny  creature  in  her  arms. 
The  nurse,  a  stout,  warm-hearted  widow,  who 
had  lost  two  children  of  her  own,  congested  with 
anxious  comments  she  longed  to  make.  The 
quality  of  the  mother's  silence  stopped  her.  To 
tell  her  the  truth,  moreover,  was  impossible,  for 
personally  the  woman  never  supposed  the  child 
would  live.  As  she  had  said  freely  to  the  servants 
downstairs,  "From  the  beginning  the  thing  'adn't 
the  look  of  life,"  much  less  its  poor  chill  little 
body,  that  had  to  be  cased  in  cotton-wool  and 
rubbed  with  oils. 

When  she  had  tied  on  her  flannel  apron  Gillette 
came  up  to  her.  Still,  without  speaking,  she  gave 
up  her  heart's  treasure.  The  nurse  had  placed  a 
chair  for  her  the  other  side  of  the  little  bath,  but 
as  soon  as  she  had  given  up  the  child  Gillette 
turned  and  left  the  room. 

Aimlessly  she  walked  along  the  corridor  to  the 


260  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

window  at  the  end.  It  looked  out  on  the  back 
garden,  where  a  path,  hemmed  on  one  side  by  a 
high  hedge  of  box,  led  to  the  kronen  garden  and 
the  stream  running  through  the  further  part  of 
the  grounds.  She  could  see  the  stream  as  a  little 
gleam  of  silver,  but  she  saw  it  without  conscious- 
ness of  the  fact.  Gazing  out  of  doors,  she  counted 
the  hours  that  must  elapse  before  an  answer 
could  come  to  her  telegram.  She  stood  there  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  but  at  last  her  sudden  ter- 
ror commenced  to  subside.  If  there  had  really 
been  danger,  she  said  to  herself,  her  mother, 
George,  Ellice,  the  nurse,  would  all  have  shown 
some  signs  of  it  on  their  faces.  And  they  were  as 
usual — they  smiled,  and  ate,  and  went  about  as 
in  tranquil,  ordinary  times.  She  was  foolish, 
and  as  yet  ignorant,  in  her  motherhood.  No 
longer  crucified  by  agony,  she  felt  it  necessary 
to  go  back  and  consult  nurse  about  to-day's 
calamity.  Probably  it  was  only  due  to  some 
insignificant  accident;  at  baby's  age  health  varied 
from  hour  to  hour. 

Once  more  her  breath  came  naturally,  and  she 
perceived  that  the  sun  was  shining,  and  that  the 
huge  white  may-tree  on  the  other  side  of  the  box- 
hedge  was  like  a  bride's  veil  shimmering  in  the 
light.  At  that  moment  George  and  Ellice  ap- 
peared coming  from  the  kitchen  garden.  Ellice 
wore  the  rose  crepe  shawl  as  a  past  lady  of 
fashion  might  have  worn  it  on  a  summer's  day, 
dropped  gracefully  over  her  arms.  It  was  a 
pretty  bit  of  color  against  the  dark  hedge  and 
the  pale  pastel  blue  of  Ellice' s  gown. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  261 

Gillette,  taking  in  half  absently  the  bright  and 
delicate  effect  of  the  approaching  figure,  suddenly 
grew  ice  from  head  to  foot.  She  stared  then,  fas- 
cinated by  unformulated  horror.  There  could  be 
no  mistake  as  to  what  she  saw — sight  could  play 
no  tricks  in  full  revealing  morning  sunlight.  And, 
as  they  stepped  into  the  path,  her  husband  had 
seized  the  hanging  ends  of  the  other's  shawl, 
looked  hastily  round,  and  then,  drawing  Ellice 
toward  him,  had  kissed  her.  It  was  but  the 
light  kiss  of  a  moment — in  an  instant  the  girl 
had  pulled  the  rose  ends  out  of  his  hands ;  but 
to  the  woman  watching  it  gave  the  impression 
of  lasting  a  long  while,  a  shameful,  interminable 
space  of  time. 

Turned  to  stone,  she  stared  on  at  them  out  of 
the  window.  When  the  shawl  was  free,  what 
would  Ellice  do?  She  had  just  time  for  the 
thought  while  both  contested  over  the  wrap. 
Then  she  saw  it  was  abandoned  to  Ellice,  and 
that  the  latter  was  slowly  replacing  it  over  her 
shoulders.  Slowly,  too,  when  she  had  done  so, 
like  two  persons  peacefully  enjoying  the  sun,  and 
reluctant  to  come  indoors,  they  continued  to  ap- 
proach the  house.  Before  they  passed  out  of 
sight,  Gillette  perceived  Ellice  point  tranquilly 
to  something  either  in  the  garden  or  field  be- 
yond. 

After  they  had  disappeared,  Gillette  still  stared 
at  the  space  they  had  vacated.  She  still  saw 
them  there  between  the  shower-like  may-tree  and 
the  hedge  of  box  reacting  their  little  pitiable 
scene,  with  its  delicate  white-and-green  setting. 


262  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

They  had  kissed — kissed — kissed.  What  was  a  kiss? 
What  did  a  kiss  signify  taken  suddenly  from  a 
•woman  pulled  to  one  by  the  fringes  of  a  crepe 
shawl?  What  lay  behind  a  kiss  leaving  no  cata- 
clysm of  horror,  or  anger,  or  revolt? 

Ellice  had  been  kissed  by  her  husband,  and,  as 
if  a  circumstance  sweet  and  habitual,  had  con- 
tinued tranquilly  to  walk  with  him  afterward. 
It  was  a  kiss  taken  as  such  a  thing  only  could  be 
between  two  people  so  used  to  the  circumstance 
as  to  have  no  after  confusion,  explanation,  ex- 
citement. They  could  kiss  and  fall  back  upon 
previous  conversation.  Oh,  God — how  often  they 
must  have  done  it  before! 

Gillette  stirred  for  the  first  time  since  she  had 
caught  sight  of  them.  The  need  to  be  eased  of 
some  stifling  pressure  caused  her  to  fumble  with 
the  hooks  of  her  bodice,  as  if  about  to  undo  them 
and  give  her  heart  more  space  to  beat  in. 

To  accept  Ellice  in  this  incident  was  perhaps 
the  hardest  of  all.  But  while  she  resisted,  the 
inner  vision  saw  them  still,  the  green  of  the 
hedge  throwing  into  relief  the  girl's  pale  blue 
dress,  and  the  pink  of  the  shawl,  that  seemed 
now  focussed  for  everlasting  through  the  lenses 
of  sight. 

Gillette  trembled,  and  upon  her  lips  stammered 
a  silent  prayer. 

"O  God,  help  me  to  understand.  Keep  me  from 
hard  and  bitter  thoughts.  I  beseech  Thee,  teach 
me  compassion.  Teach  me  what  to  do.  For 
Christ's  sake,  O  God,  teach  me  to  have  pity,  and 
to  forgive." 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  263 

Her  knees  shook,  but  slowly  the  first  passion- 
ate condemnation  passed  out  of  her  soul.  How 
should  she,  herself  so  unworthy,  condemn  any 
one?  For  each  nature  its  own  temptations,  for 
each  life  its  own  horrible  combats  against  evil. 
She  wanted  now  to  be  on  her  knees ;  only  in  that 
attitude  could  she  continue  to  seek  light  in  this 
chaos  of  disaster  that  had  torn  asunder  her  life. 
The  existence  of  yesterday  had  been  sweet  and 
wholesome,  filled  with  the  unconscious  peace  of 
ordinary  household  incidents.  Now  she  was 
afraid — afraid  of  her  friend,  afraid  of  her  hus- 
band, afraid  of  many  nameless,  unformulated, 
impalpable  things.  Already  she  felt  as  if  the 
house  were  packed  with  horrors  to  be  afraid  of. 
Sin  had  come  into  it,  and  the  incommensurable 
griefs  that  lie  in  wait  to  follow  upon  sin.  Sin 
and  suffering  beat  against  her  face  as  she  stood, 
and  she  felt  them  stream  along  the  corridor, 
spreading  themselves  everywhere,  everywhere  in 
the  house.  The  double  pain  in  her  mind  was 
annihilating.  Her  baby  was  dangerously  ill,  and 
Ellice  loved  her  husband.  She  had  seen  only  a 
kiss,  but  the  rest  had  come  to  her  unsought. 
These  two  loved  each  other;  how  terrible,  how 
terrible ! 

Then  at  last  she  turned  from  the  window  and 
went  to  her  room.  Once  there,  she  passed  to  the 
small  inner  chamber  and  fell  upon  her  knees. 

She  prayed  wildly.  To  have  followed  her  mean- 
ing would  have  been  difficult,  for  the  mind  sprang 
from  one  aching  thought  to  another,  from  one 
supplication  to  the  next,  without  sequence.  And 


264  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

between  every  fresh  petition  for  Ellice,  Spenser,  or 
the  child,  issued  broken  prayers  for  herself — that 
she  might  have  strength  3  b'  ar  this  terminating 
blow  to  the  hopes  of  her  own  married  life ;  that 
she  might  love  Ellice  more,  not  less,  now  that  she 
knew  her  bitter  story;  that  she  might  be  made 
selfless  and  compassionate.  In  the  end,  broken, 
miserable,  riddled  with  anxiety  and  injurious 
knowledge,  she  knelt  wordless,  emptied  of  utter- 
ance. 

Two  hours  must  have  passed  since  she  left  the 
nursery,  and  at  last  she  asked  herself  heavily, 
hardly  with  any  feeling,  if  an  answer  could  yet 
have  come  to  her  telegram.  The  desire  to  be 
back  in  the  nursery  slowly  followed,  coming  with 
the  pacifying  effect  of  an  opiate  upon  physical 
pain.  The  abrupt  vision  of  little  Patrick's  bas- 
sinette, a  sea  of  -white  and  blue,  of  the  fireplace 
with  its  high  fender  garlanded  -with  little  child- 
ish garments,  of  the  washing-stand  with  its  soak- 
ing bottles,  seemed  to  renew  her  brain  with  hope- 
ful, homely  facts. 

She  must  go  to  her  baby.  Something  dreadful 
had  happened:  deceit,  disloyalty,  and  sin  under- 
mined the  seemly  peace  of  her  house ;  but  her  be- 
loved was  still  there,  with  his  exquisite  need  of 
her,  and  at  the  thought  over  anguish  flowed  once 
more  the  unquenchable  joy  of  her  motherhood. 

She  rose  from  her  knees,  but  as  she  stood  the 
room  swam  round  her.  How  could  she  meet  her 
husband  or  Ellice,  holding  this  shameful  knowl- 
edge to  undermine  honest  intercourse?  And  her 
poor  racked  brain  drew  into  life  past  caresses, 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  265 

wonderful  and  sweet  to  her  at  the  time  She  sat 
down  on  the  sofa  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and 
was  played  upon  by  recollections,  each  one  like 
a  whip  cutting  open  her  heart,  of  Spenser's  ten- 
der moments — moments,  at  least,  when  he  had 
simulated  genuine  emotion.  The  first  sweet  days 
of  her  initiation  into  love  of  him  stirred  her  with 
a  piteous  renewal  of  past  sensation.  She  felt  the 
uncomprehended  call  of  human  passion  with  the 
same  tremor  of  mysterious  fear  as  she  had  felt 
it  at  Spenser's  entreaties.  He  had  taught  her  to 
love,  taught  her  that  it  was  sweet  to  be  a  woman. 
Love  of  him  had  fallen  irradicably  into  her  being. 
Even  the  bitter  agony  of  the  months  before  her 
baby  had  come  to  heal  all  agonies,  when  she  had 
learned  with  an  irrefutable  clearness  that  his  love 
had  been  to  a  great  extent  mere  trickery,  had 
not  destroyed  her  own  humble  affection.  She 
had  become  afraid  of  him — afraid,  that  is,  of  be- 
ing repulsive  or  annoying  to  him ;  but  she  bore  a 
tenderness  always  in  her  breast,  that  no  neglect 
attenuated. 

Now  there  was  no  hope,  not  even  for  the  future. 
All  the  love  she  had  dreamed  one  day  perhaps  to 
win  was  already  given,  being  expended  every 
hour.  A  hundred  signs  of  his  overpowering  love 
for  Ellice  hurled  themselves  into  her  as  she  sat 
there.  All  these  months  she  had  noticed  nothing, 
suspected  nothing,  and  now  she  learned  abruptly, 
had  seen — had  seen,  and  seen  enough  to  know 
everything — the  depth,  the  recklessness,  the  very 
vehemence  of  her  husband's  love  for  Ellice. 

"He  thinks  of  nothing  else!"  she  exclaimed  sud- 


266  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

denly  out  loud,  gasping  under  the  inrush  of  re- 
vealing recollections. 

The  words  had  hardly  grown  silent  on  the  air 
before  the  handle  of  her  door  was  tried. 

"Gillette,  what  are  you  doing?  I  have  been 
waiting  for  you  all  the  morning,  and  now  there 
is  a  telegram.  The  doctor  will  be  here  at  five. 
Let  me  in,  child." 

It  was  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

Gillette  rose  to  her  feet,  still  trying  piteously 
to  decide  how  she  could  meet  Ellice  and  her  hus- 
band. Must  she  keep  silent,  or  speak  the  truth? 
Her  mother,  meanwhile,  commenced  to  play  im- 
patiently with  the  door-handle.  Leaving  thought 
till  later,  Gillette  went  wearily  and  let  her  in. 

"Good  God,  child!  what  is  the  matter  with 
you?  Have  you  had  another  heart  attack?  Oh 
dear,  what  a  worry  you  are,  allowing  yourself 
to  go  to  pieces  for  nothing !  I  thought  you  were 
with  baby,  and  you  have  been  sitting  here  fright- 
ening yourself  to  death,  simply  because  there  is 
no  denying  you  have  a  delicate  child,  who  will 
want  care  and  doctoring." 

Gillette  struggled  uselessly  to  find  something 
reassuring  to  say.  It  seemed  to  her  she  heard 
and  saw  her  mother  only  from  immense  distance. 
And  as  she  sought  intelligence  for  a  normal  an- 
swer, the  pink  crepe  shawl  formed  before  her  eyes. 
Forgetting  Mrs.  Sinclair,  she  stood  still  and  stared 
at  it.  Sometimes  she  saw  Ellice  in  it,  with  the 
entire  setting  of  green  and  white  background. 
Then  Ellice  faded  out  of  it,  with  George  and  the 
hedge  and  may-tree  fading  after  her.  But  the 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  267 

pink  shawl  remained  in  the  room,  hanging  in  the 
air  before  her  eyes,  vivid  enough  to  be  tangible, 
horrible  enough  to  be  but  the  mask  of  a  devil. 

The  luncheon-gong  boomed  through  the  house, 
and  the  vision  loosened  its  clutches,  paled,  and 
finally  gave  place  to  the  common  realities  of  the 
moment.  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  still  asking  what 
ailed  her,  and  there  was  lunch  and  the  same  out- 
ward routine  everywhere  as  yesterday.  It  cost 
an  effort  of  mind,  however,  to  realize  that  there 
would  be  nothing  changed,  They  would  talk  of 
ordinary  matters,  and  Ellice  would  laugh — no, 
no,  surely  not  that!  Most  things  would  keep 
their  normal  aspect,  but  not  Ellice.  And  yet 
Ellice  had  laughed  yesterday — this  morning — with 
the  man  she  loved  secretly  and  shamefully,  at 
table  with  her.  Oh,  if  it  were  not  Ellice,  her 
friend,  her  other  soul! 

"Go  down  to  lunch,  mother,"  she  said,  shiver- 
ing without  knowing  it.  "I  will  go  into  the 
nursery  and  have  mine  sent  up.  I  am  not  very 
well,  and  I  do  not  want  to  leave  him  any  more 
to-day." 

All  that  afternoon  she  remained  in  the  child's 
room.  Merely  to  be  there  in  its  atmosphere 
calmed  her.  The  very  illustrated  Christmas  pic- 
tures on  the  wall  held  an  element  pushing  in- 
famous tragedy  out  of  reach.  In  a  nursery  how 
could  evil  retain  a  place?  She  sat  most  of  the 
time  by  the  white  bassinette,  with  one  hand  on 
the  frilled  coverlet,  by  this  mere  touch  of  his  lit- 
tle bed  kept  from  utter  sorrow.  When  the  child 
woke,  and  she  held  him  at  last  in  her  arms,  she 


268  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

did  not  even  remember  any  more  the  garden 
scene.  She  marvelled  only  at  the  incommensur- 
able goodness  of  God.  Oh,  how  wonderful  to 
make  the  deepest  joy  of  woman's  life  also  her 
greatest  duty!  To  think  that  all  the  care  and 
love  and  thought  expended  upon  one's  child, 
which  were  life's  festivals,  were  also  holy  and 
right,  needing  not  one  second's  remorse  or  lim- 
itation. 

She  felt,  as  she  held  her  baby  that  afternoon, 
that  to  let  him  out  of  her  arms  again  would  dis- 
lodge her  heart  with  effort.  Little  Patrick,  awake 
but  peaceful,  gazed  at  her  -with  the  curious  stare 
of  infancy.  And  while  he  looked  long  and  un- 
afraid into  her  eyes,  all  her  frame  thrilled  to  a 
marvel  ous  sense  of  closeness.  It  was  as  if  he  and 
she  deliberately  exchanged  loving  intimacies,  the 
little  fearless  eyes  uttering  their  trust  and  confi- 
dence, she  her  inco  municable  affection.  They 
told  her  he  had  as  yet  no  mind,  barely  a  con- 
sciousness. Yes,  for  the  outside  world;  but  God 
is  good,  and  to  a  mother  there  is  no  time  bereft 
of  precious  intercourse.  A  baby's  eyes  are  never 
empty  to  the  worship  of  the  woman  who  brought 
it  into  the  world. 

Presently  Ellice  and  her  mother  came  together 
to  fetch  her  downstairs.  She  excused  herself, 
pleading  desire  to  remain  in  the  child's  room. 
Her  searching  gaze  at  Ellice  -was  for  a  second 
unnatural,  then  became  quiet  and  sweet  again. 
In  truth,  bewilderment  stunned  every  deeper  sen- 
sation. Ellice  wore  her  usual  air  of  happy  seren- 
ity. The  ravages  of  an  unquiet  conscience  and  an 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  269 

aching  heart  had  not  laid  a  finger  on  the  childish 
skin. 

"Give  me  understanding  to  be  pitiful,  dear 
Lord,"  breathed  Gillette,  feeling  as  whirled  blindly 
in  a  great  darkness. 

They  stayed  with  her  until  tea-time,  putting 
down  her  unsmiling  quietude  to  the  circumstance 
of  the  doctor's  visit.  For  the  same  reason  they 
did  not  resist  her  desire  to  remain  where  she  was ; 
but  they  sent  up  Spenser  himself  with  her  tea 
and  bread-and-butter.  The  child  was  asleep 
again,  but  her  husband  stood  opposite  her  by 
the  window,  speaking  of  the  unsatisfactory  symp- 
toms of  the  morning  as  if  himself  genuinely  dis- 
turbe  by  them.  He  praised  her  prompt  action 
in  sending  for  the  doctor,  and  tried  to  cheer  her 
by  half-tender  banter  over  her  undue  solicitude. 
Gillette  replied  only  in  monosyllables;  her  upper 
lip  commenced  to  quiver,  and  continued  all  the 
time  he  -was  in  the  room.  To  speak  to  him  had 
to  her  something  both  strange  and  heartrending. 

When  he  had  gone,  she  remembered  with  sudden 
gratitude  that  the  ordeal  of  meeting  both  was  at 
least  over,  and  that  nothing  had  happened,  noth- 
ing had  grown  impossible.  Her  confusion  of  mind 
was  overpowering — that  was  all.  And  when  the 
doctor  had  been,  and  these  uneven  heart-beats 
for  her  baby's  safety  had  ceased,  she  would  have 
time  to  tear  away  the  mists  that  obscured  under- 
standing. Just  now,  the  mere  actuality  of  the 
two  sorrows  was  as  much  as  she  could  hold. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

Mrs.  Sinclair,  Ellice,  and  Spenser  stood  together 
in  the  library. 

Dr.  D had  gone;  Gillette  was  still  in  the 

nursery.  The  doctor  had  asked  her  to  remain 
and  pacify  the  child  while  he  gave  his  directions 
to  her  mother  downstairs.  His  manner  expressed 
hope  and  cheerfulness,  but  once  out  of  her  pres- 
ence he  gave  his  verdict  in  its  entirety.  The  child 
•was  dying,  consumptive  from  head  to  foot.  From 
the  beginning  its  strength  had  been  insufficient 
to  take  a  hold  on  life.  It  would  not  suffer ;  prob- 
ably it  would  pass  away  quietly  in  its  sleep.  The 
dysentery  and  sickness  might  possibly  increase, 
but  this  he  would  do  his  best  to  stop. 

They  listened  in  silence.  Only  Mrs.  Sinclair  pro- 
tested with  feeble  tears  against  the  encroach  of 
this  new  misery.  When  the  doctor  had  gone  she 
commenced  to  cry  hysterically.  Spenser  sank  into 
the  chair  by  the  fire,  holding  his  head  in  his  hands. 
Ellice  alone  thought  clearly,  going  instantly  across 
to  Spenser. 

"Listen,"  she  said.  "Don't  you  see  it  is  no 
time  to  think  of  anything  except  Gillette?  The 
doctor  has  said  she  must  only  be  told  gradually. 
Oh,  think  of  Gillette !  if  anything  happens  to  baby, 
how  she  will  suffer!" 

Forgetting  Mrs.  Sinclair's  presence,  her  hands 
went  out  to  him  helplessly.  It  seemed  as  if  she 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  271 

could  not  get  herself  understood,  and  yet  he  must 
be  made  at  once — there  was  not  a  minute  to  lose, 
since  Gillette  might  be  down  at  any  moment — 
to  see  that  they  should  be  ready  to  drop  every 
thought  save  how  best  to  have  ready  their  pite- 
ous gayety,  their  story  to  cheer  and  sustain,  their 
garbled  version  of  the  doctor's  verdict. 

"Mrs.  Sinclair" — she  turned  to  her  fiercely — "you 
mast  not  cry.  Don't  you  realize  that  Gillette  will 
be  here  in  a  minute?  George,  tell  her  to  stop 
or  go." 

She  was  distraught,  dreading  every  second  Gil- 
lette's unobserved  entrance.  Spenser  rose  at 
once.  He,  too,  was  anxious  to  do  all  in  his 
power  to  spare  the  unhappy  mother.  That  this 
disaster  marked  him  as  a  secondary  victim  he 
could  at  present  at  least,  in  sheer  pity,  grimly 
accept.  In  Ellice's  voice  alone  he  had  discerned 
instantly  a  death-blow  accepted  to  all  the  past, 
and  to  all  the  preconceived  future.  In  the  words 
"Oh,  think  of  Gillette!"  he  had  heard  both  the 
expressed  meaning  of  the  -words  and  the  uninten- 
tioned  signification  beneath.  It  was  the  one  who 
suffered  most  who  should  be  most  considered, 
and  henceforward  the  most  anguished  of  the 
three  would  be  Gillette.  He  went  over  to  Mrs. 
Sinclair. 

"Look  here,  Mrs.  Sinclair:  Gillette  will  be  down 
in  a  few  seconds;  what  reason,  may  I  ask,  are 
you  going  to  give  for  this  deluge?" 

Mrs.  Sinclair  tried  to  stop  the  tears  that  choked 
her ;  but  the  strain  of  her  daughter's  long  illness 
had  told  upon  her.  Physically  she  had  not  yet 


272  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

recouped  from  it,  and  she  knew  this  to  be  a  blow 
Gillette  -would  never  wholly  recover  from. 

"I  will  go  to  my  room.  Tell  her  baby  wants 
care.  I  will  be  back  by  then.  I " 

She  rose,  crying  helplessly.  As  she  went  to  the 
door  Gillette  came  in. 

"Mother!" 

None  of  the  three  remembered  to  have  heard 
anything  so  terrible  as  that  single  word.  It  froze 
in  the  blood.  Like  ice  it  pressed  against  the  chest. 
The  sound  tore  the  air,  and  then  ceased  abruptly, 
with  a  completeness  more  horrible  than  itself. 
After  it  Gillette  stood  staring  at  her  mother. 
Visibly  her  power  of  comprehension  reeled  de- 
mented in  her  head,  for  she  wore  the  look  of  a 
mad  woman. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  tried  to  speak,  but  the  shock  of 
her  daughter's  unexpected  entrance  shook  the 
last  hope  of  self-control  out  of  her.  Her  tears 
became  unmistakably  hysterical. 

"For  goodness'  sake  go  away!"  exclaimed  Spen- 
ser at  last  in  her  ear.  Then  he  took  both  Gil- 
lette's hands.  "Your  mother,  dear,  is  behaving 

like  a  lunatic  because  Dr.  D wishes  baby  to 

have  brandy  in  his  milk.  She  is  absurd,  with  her 
old-fashioned  notions." 

Gillette  turned  her  eyes  to  him  as  he  spoke. 
The  appearance  of  dementia  had  gone,  but  their 
gaze  was  unendurable.  Sane,  they  yet  seemed 
about  to  die  of  anguish. 

Ellice  was  already  at  her  side,  but  she  had 
rendered  all  efforts  at  deception  useless  by  her 
instant  absolute  comprehension;  and  her  present 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  273 

expression  no  phrases  could  meet.  They  slunk 
from  the  lips  shaping  them,  appalled  at  then- 
futility.  At  last  she  spoke: 

"Tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  the  truth — absolutely 
all!" 

Spenser  had  never  conceived  anything  so  fright- 
ful as  this  scene.  She  stood  looking  like  a  per- 
son whose  gaze  is  magnetized  by  horrors,  sub- 
lime and  terrible  in  her  agony,  her  patience,  her 
voiceless  dignity.  He  reiterated  frenziedly  that 
there  was  hope.  The  child  was  seriously  ill,  but  hope 
could  never  be  non-existent  while  life  continued. 

Her  blue  lips  moved  as  he  ceased  speaking,  evi- 
dently in  prayer.  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  rushed  from 
the  room.  Spenser  and  Ellice  stood  and  waited, 
clinging  to  the  icy  hands.  To  comfort  would 
have  been  useless.  Gillette's  grief  was  beyond 
reach.  But  they  murmured  her  name  at  inter- 
vals, beseeching  her  to  withdraw  her  eyes  from 
the  awful  vision  of  the  future  that  assailed  them. 
She  did  not  hear.  But  suddenly  her  lips  parted, 
fluttering  helplessly  like  weary  wings. 

'Will  he  suffer?" 

"No,  no!    Only  fall  asleep." 

The  lips  stirred  again,  but  the  words  they 
framed  were  to  her  God,  not  to  them. 

"Make  her  sit  down,"  Ellice  whispered  to  Spen- 
ser at  last,  and  they  drew  her  to  the  armchair 
by  the  fireplace.  She  sat  upright  in  it,  still  gaz- 
ing into  space,  still  wrestling  with  comprehen- 
sion, still  fighting  for  strength  to  bear  her  an- 
guish nobly,  still  beating  back  irresistible  despair 
with  the  same  sublime  cry: 
18 


274  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

"Thy  will  be  done,  O  God!" 

For  hours  she  sat  on  and  battled  with  abysmal 
pain.  And  for  hours  they  dared  not  approach 
her  with  their  feeble  compassions.  It  was  a  sor- 
row like  a  fire,  licking  up  all  that  came  near. 
Gillette,  though  they  saw  and  touched  her  body, 
they  could  not  approach.  She  and  her  agony  had 
gone  into  the  loneliness  where  only  one  can  abide 
at  a  time,  where  the  heart  is  tortured  in  dark- 
ness and  the  soul  is  tested  in  an  impenetrable 
desolation. 

Meanwhile  the  other  two  could  only  wait  until 
she  should  creep  back  to  them.  She  had  asked 
to  be  alone,  and  they  had  gone  into  the  music- 
room  adjoining.  From  time  to  time  Ellice  and 
Spenser  went  in  turn  to  try  and  rouse  her.  They 
found  her  attitude  absolutely  unchanged.  Her 
hands  were  clasped,  and  she  prayed  unceasingly, 
obviously  unconscious  of  where  she  was. 

At  last  Spenser  could  bear  the  situation  no 
longer. 

"She  will  die!"  he  exclaimed.  "My  God,  Ellice, 
how  horrible!  I  can't  look  at  her.  Something 
must  be  done.  She  has  been  like  this  for  two 
hours.  They  will  be  sounding  the  dinner-gong  in 
a  minute.  Can't  you  do  anything?" 

Ellice  herself  looked  haggard.  She  also  felt  this 
immobility  in  the  hands  of  boundless  miseiy  must 
consume  vitality.  At  his  appeal,  therefore,  she 
went  once  more  into  the  library.  Gillette  was  no 
longer  bolt  upright.  Her  head  had  fallen  between 
the  hands  on  her  lap.  Ellice  knelt  and  touched 
the  icy  fingers  with  her  own. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  275 

"Sweet,  won't  you  be  brave?  Baby  wants  all 
your  strength  and  your  love,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing hopeless  while  thei'e  is  life.  For  his  sake 
won't  you  speak  to  me?" 

For  a  second  there  was  no  movement.  Then 
slowly,  with  an  infinite,  tragic  effort,  the  head 
withdrew  from  the  sheltering  darkness  of  the 
hands. 

"Forgive  me,  I — it  is  as  God  wills." 

In  a  torrent  the  tears  poured  down  Ellice's 
face.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  incommuni- 
cably  piteous  than  this  supplication  for  forgive- 
ness ;  all  the  beauty  of  Gillette's  nature  throbbed 
through  the  grace  of  her  return  to  them.  But  to 
Ellice  her  self-repression  was  more  ghastly  than 
any  outbreak.  If  she  had  flung  open  her  arms 
in  a  gasping  need  for  human  sympathy,  there 
would  have  been  an  inlet  for  love  to  reach  her 
through.  This  quiet  revealed  a  despair  that 
knows  itself  below  the  roots  of  solace,  that  can- 
not speak  or  be  spoken  to,  no  words  knowing 
its  isolation,  its  immensity. 

"Don't  cry,"  she  continued  softly  as  the  other 
wept.  "Don't  cry,  Ellice." 

And  from  that  moment  her  renunciation  was 
made,  and  she  resumed  her  ceaseless  effort  to  ren- 
der all  that  life  brings  beautiful — out  of  sorrow 
only  to  love  the  more. 

She  went  with  Ellice  into  the  next  room,  kissed 
her  mother,  and  held  out  her  stricken  hands  to 
her  husband,  saying  only  with  a  wistful  humility 
as  the  dinner-gong  boomed  through  the  corridor : 

"May  I  stay  upstairs?    I  could  not  eat." 


276  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

Mercifully,  all  that  she  had  seen  in  the  garden 
had  been  forgotten.  She  spoke  to  Ellice  and 
Spenser,  eased  at  last  for  the  moment  of  any 
bitter  knowledge.  Mental  exhaustion  was  near. 
The  small  degree  of  consciousness  remaining  she 
used  in  the  effort  to  spare  those  in  the  house  by 
a  passive  docility  to  their  wishes.  Only  when 
her  mother  tried  to  draw  her  out  of  the  night- 
nursery  to  her  own  room  did  she  make  any  re- 
sistance to  what  wras  asked  of  her.  Then,  with 
a  weary  movement,  in  itself  a  supplication,  she 
drew  out  of  the  encircling  clasp  of  her  mother's 
arms. 

"I  cannot,  dear.  While  I  can  I  must  sleep  by 
him,  be  awake  when  he  wakes,  do  all  there  is 
to  do.  Have  pity,  mother;  it  is  only  a  little 
while." 

The  older  woman  kissed  the  aching  head  laid 
child-like  against  her  own  in  a  silent  consent. 
She  left  the  room  sobbing  again  piteously. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

While  Mrs.  Sinclair  arranged  a  bed  for  Gillette 
in  the  nursery,  Spenser  and  Ellice  sat  together  in 
the  drawing-room.  To  be  alone  with  her  after 
the  unrelieved  horror  of  the  last  few  hours  felt  to 
the  man  like  a  snatch  of  sleep  in  a  prolonged 
night-watch.  In  addition,  the  relief  of  not  seeing 
Gillette's  expression  eased  his  limbs  and  lightened 
his  chest.  For  all  his  pity,  revulsion  had  already 
set  in  against  taking  any  lengthy  part  in  a  drama 
so  poignantly  and  unconquerably  distressing. 

He  was  aware  already  of  a  creeping  lassitude 
in  the  part  demanded  of  him.  The  thought  of 
the  days  to  come,  muffled  in  tears  and  swathed 
in  melancholy,  brought  on  a  positive  shiver.  To 
feel  in  Gillette's  fashion  wrecked  the  whole  of  life 
in  its  excesses.  More  than  ever  the  afternoon  had 
taught  him  that  one  should  grieve  with  eyes 
strained  for  the  least  ray  of  sunlight,  hands  alert 
to  catch  the  least  mitigation  of  misery,  throat 
thirsting  to  change  a  groan  into  the  healthy 
laugh  of  a  rebound  from  sorrow.  And  these  peo- 
ple, he  reflected,  would  make  a  cult  of  depression, 
rendering  his  house  a  sepulchre  with  a  cradle  for 
coffin  in  it. 

Good  God !  what  fools !  Gillette,  of  course,  one 
could  hardly  expect  to  be  anything  but  prostrate. 
Only,  when  nothing  remained  to  be  done,  when 
the  irrevocable  had  been  accomplished,  how  much 


278  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

more  reasonable  and  pleasant  to  both  to  forge 
ahead,  to  put  the  lamentable  incident,  no  longer 
alterable  by  a  hair's  breadth,  at  the  back,  where 
one's  eyes  are  not,  and  look  at  the  revivifying 
front!  But  no,  these  women  would  weep  for 
months,  fill  every  room  with  useless  mourning, 
and  speak  as  if  their  own  lungs  were  half  dead 
also.  What  a  prospect  to  look  forward  to,  espe- 
cially for  a  man  already  too  intimate  with  the 
characteristics  of  sickliness  and  melancholy! 

But  suddenly,  as  if  the  breath  of  freshness  he 
needed,  he  remembered  that  he  and  Ellice  were 
undisturbed  together.  She  sat  looking  at  him, 
and,  as  if  he  had  expected  to  see  her  in  crape 
already,  the  pale-blue  frieze  gown  she  had  on 
struck  him  with  a  sense  of  surprise.  At  the  sight, 
with  much  the  shock  of  a  blow,  he  remembered 
all  that  had  occurred  in  the  aromatic  warmth 
of  the  garden:  the  promise  drawn  there  like  a 
sigh  out  of  her  rosy  lips — the  promise  this  pain- 
ful death  annihilated.  In  a  fortnight  they  would 
have  been  abroad  together.  Now 

Ellice  saw  his  face  grow  red.  He  looked  to  her 
like  a  man  staring  at  an  enemy  he  desired  to  take 
by  the  throat. 

"George,"  she  said,  making  her  voice  less  sad 
than  caressing. 

She  knew  him  as  a  book  acquired  by  heart, 
and  knew  it  was  a  time  to  soothe  and  tranquil- 
lize. If  she  suffered,  it  must  be  secretly  and  in 
private. 

"My  dear,  this  is  a  terrible  business,"  he  ex- 
claimed harshly.  "I  pity  that  poor  woman  up- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  279 

stairs  more  than  I  can  say;  but  I  have  a  devil 
in  me,  Ellice,  and  I  can't  control  him.  I  must 
have  you  just  the  same.  Do  you  hear?  This 
morning's  arrangement  was  final." 

He  got  up  and  grasped  her  wrists.  There  was 
no  visible  reason  for  this  violent  grip;  she  made 
no  denying  gesture.  But  Spenser  was  less  con- 
scious of  the  physical  action  than  the  mental 
coercion  it  symbolized. 

"Well,"  he  continued  with  irritated  insistence, 
"why  don't  you  speak  now  we  are  alone?" 

She  opened  her  lips  to  answer,  when,  conscious 
brusquely  of  the  inflow  of  naturalness  and  well- 
being  he  felt  with  no  living  being  as  he  did  with 
her,  he  let  go  of  her  wrists,  to  discharge  the  flood- 
gates of  the  afternoon's  emotions. 

"Have  you  ever,  sweet,  been  through  anything 
more  awful?  I  felt  that  if  she  didn't  speak  soon 
one  would  go  mad  one's  self.  Ellice,  come  and 
sit  by  me,  and  let's  be  natural  for  a  moment. 
For  pity's  sake,  dear,  help  one  to  throw  it  off 
for  a  second  or  two.  Oh,  you  wonderful,  dear 
woman!  This  business  will  make  me  ill:  I  am 
positively  saturated  in  morbidity  by  it  already. 
Do  you  know,  with  your  hand  in  mine,  the  only 
thought  I  am  capable  of?  In  connection  with 
you — the  very  essence  of  beautiful  life — it  is  gigan- 
tesque  positively." 

The  moment  he  had  asked  her  to  come  and  sit 
by  him  she  had  moved  over  to  the  sofa,  where 
they  could  be  side  by  side.  Spenser  himself  mar- 
velled at  the  perfectibility  of  her  intuition.  Re- 
sisted, his  overstrained  nerves  would  have  led  to 


280  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

a  scene,  dangerous  and  disgusting  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. And  with  consummate  insight  she 
had  yielded  to  the  lesser  and  immediate  need, 
that,  pacified  by  the  present  consent  and  roused 
to  gratitude,  he  might  realize  it  was  not  the 
hour  to  press  more  impossible  matters. 

"Well,  do  you  give  up,  little  one?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  keeping  her  manner  as  nor- 
mal as  she  could,  and  forcing  a  half-smile. 

At  the  freshness  of  her  voice  Spenser  felt  a  cur- 
rent of  pleasure  run  through  his  system.  He  re- 
peated to  himself  that  she  was  wonderful.  With 
a  word,  a  smile,  a  little  caressing  movement  of 
her  hand  in  his,  she  had  hurled  all  the  intolerable 
excess  out  of  the  gloom  about  them.  It  was 
there,  of  course,  but  tempered  by  the  rebounding 
vitality  of  youth,  by  the  involuntary  recoil  ot 
wholesome  life  from  all  dark,  morbid,  and  cheer- 
destroying  circumstances. 

"I  want  when  I  die,  sweet,  to  be  buried  in  the 
sheet  you  have  slept  in  the  night  before — the 
sheet  your  beautiful  body  has  made  full  of  poetry, 
fragrance,  mysteriousness.  See  to  it,  Ellice.  Now 
I  have  thought  of  it,  I  could  not  rest  in  my  grave 
without.  I  shall  feel  your  soft  arms  pressing 
about  me,  your  hair  falling  upon  my  face,  and  all 
the  strange,  queer  sweetness  of  your  nature  filter- 
ing through  to  mine.  I  shall  possess  the  aro- 
matic warmth  of  your  mind  and  body  both  in 
the  shroud  stolen  from  your  bedroom — the  shroud 
you,  Ellice,  had  just  breathed  a  whole  innocent 
night's  sleep  against.  Oh,  to  rest  long  and  un- 
disturbed in  your  warm,  sweet  sheet — that  is 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  281 

worth  dying  for !  I  loathe  death,  dear,  but  now 
at  last  I  have  drawn  its  sting." 

He  spoke  with  a  hint  of  fever,  and  his  hands 
were  moist.  Truly,  agitation  cf  the  kind  now 
surrounding  them  was  singularly  undesirable  for 
his  health,  and  the  girl,  keeping  back  a  tempest 
of  anguish  in  order  to  soothe  the  overtaxed  con- 
dition of  her  lover,  felt  her  anguish  deepened  by 
renewed  consciousness  of  the  man's  physical  in- 
abilities. At  that  moment  Mr.  Crawford's  heavy 
tread  sounded  in  the  hall. 

"Damn  him!"  muttered  Spenser,  conscious  of 
being  hurled  once  more  into  the  arena  of  irremedi- 
able depressions,  while  Ellice  hastily  withdrew 
her  hands  from  his. 

Crawford  came  in  serene  and  unsuspicious,  look- 
ing instantly  for  his  hostess.  He  wanted  more 
than  usually  to-night  to  talk  to  her.  After 
months  of  amused  oscillations,  Gillette's  uncon- 
scious influence  had  thrown  off  the  shoots  of  a 
blossom.  The  vapid  content  of  his  life  oppressed 
him  every  day  more;  in  fact,  content  was  no 
longer  there.  Slowly  he  realized  that  the  whole 
of  his  easy,  voluptuous  past  had  come  about 
more  because  it  was  the  kind  of  life  nearest  at 
hand,  than  from  any  inherent  passion  for  it.  He 
had  been  barren  ground  chiefly  because  no  good 
seed  fell  in  it  to  be  fertilized,  no  sower  had  come 
to  sow.  It  seemed  to  him  now  that  the  word 
"soul"  had  been  meaningless  to  him  until  he  had 
penetrated  into  the  still  recesses  of  Gillette's  na- 
ture. Then  for  the  first  time  the  incredible  beau- 
ties of  the  soul  along  with  the  soul  possibilities 


282  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

of  human  nature  had  flashed  like  a  gem  before  his 
eyes.  Ever  since  he  felt  that  he  could  at  least 
plead  in  extenuation  of  former  habits  that  he 
had  not  aspired  to  the  best  to  a  large  extent 
because  he  had  not  known  it.  Once  revealed 
through  the  matchless  power  of  a  pure  and  brave 
nature,  he  had  bent  acknowledgment  to  the  divine 
essences  abroad  in  humanity. 

Since  he  had  loved  Gillette — and  he  admitted 
loving  her  with  an  exultant  pride — he  had  com- 
menced to  select  among  pleasures.  The  first  re- 
sult, indeed,  of  her  influence  had  been,  perhaps, 
to  give  him  a  semi-comic  hesitation  in  self-indul- 
gences. He  found  himself  pulled  up,  with  a  reluc- 
tance he  could  discern  the  humor  of,  in  the  trivial 
backslidings  of  a  bored  or  unthinking  moment. 
Amusement  at  his  own  thriving  desires  for  trans- 
formation continued  constantly  uppermost;  in- 
deed, he  suffered  extreme  difficulty  in  taking  him- 
self and  his  new  inclinations  seriously.  Though 
he  hailed  them  with  delight,  he  could  not  feel 
certain  that  they  were  entirely  genuine.  It  ap- 
peared to  him  incredible  that  the  farceur  of  years, 
the  easy-going  egoist  whose  brevity  of  emotions 
was  notorious,  could  ever  acquire  a  really  stable 
righteousness.  The  temperament  was  too  shal- 
low. This  conclusion  always  discouraged  for  a 
time  his  mobile  enthusiasm.  Then  he  would  go 
over  to  Rook  House  and  gaze  with  a  comic  gloom 
at  Gillette  until  something  consoling  and  ennobling 
would  appear  to  him  to  steal  from  her  presence 
into  his  soul.  Frequently  on  these  occasions  he 
startled  her  with  probing  questions  only  the 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  283 

spiritual  force  could  reply  to,  making  her  lay 
unawares  the  derisive  devils  that  rose  in  him  to 
declare  incapacity.  It  was  in  consequence  of  her 
unconscious  statements  that  he  decided  at  last 
that,  if  he  could  never  be  deep,  at  least  he  could 
be  generous.  To  every  nature  its  own  oppor- 
tunities, and  the  insignificant  could  do  a  great 
deal  if  they  were  hearty.  This  evening  he  had 
come  determined  frankly  to  confess  to  Gillette 
the  inanity  of  his  life,  and  to  implore  her  advice 
as  to  how  best  to  bring  a  justificatory  element 
into  it.  He  had  meant  to  explain  to  her  that 
when  old  he  desired  to  look  back  upon  an  exist- 
ence not  wholly  useless  to  his  fellow-creatures. 

He  no  sooner,  however,  entered  the  room  than 
a  sense  of  trouble  reached  him.  Ellice,  now  the 
soothing  smile  had  faded,  looked  storm-beaten 
with  anxieties.  Her  gaze  as  he  entered  revealed 
by  itself  that  he  had  come  into  a  stricken  house- 
hold. Spenser's  expression  was  rasped. 

"Has  anything  happened?" 

The  question  sp:*ang  out  of  him  before  he  had 
yet  had  time  to  formulate  a  thought. 

"Yes.  Sit  down,  won't  you,  old  man?  The 
truth  is,  about  the  most  ghastly  thing  in  crea- 
tion has  happened.  The  child  was  not  well  this 
morning.  They  sent  for  the  doctor.  He  came  at 
five,  and  said  the  poor  little  chap  is  doomed; 
and  his  mother  knows.  The  whole  business  is 
beyond  words!" 

He  spoke  with  a  weariness  grown  to  the  verge 
of  peevishness,  and  over  Ellice  passed  the  desire 
to  draw  his  head  against  her  breast  and  to  lull 


284  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

it  into  peace  there.  Crawford  started  to  his 
feet. 

"No,  not  that!"  he  sbouted  as  if  by  violence 
to  thrust  away  an  unbearable  contingency. 

Then  he  stopped,  abashed  at  the  noise  of  his 
own  voice,  and  slowly  took  in  the  breadth  of 
the  misfortune  told  to  him.  Helplessly,  like  a 
man  turning  weakly  to  his  judges  in  request  for 
a  little  mercy,  he  stared  alternately  at  the  two. 
Ellice  did  not  speak,  but  rose  with  a  piteous 
movement  as  of  snapped  endurance.  Crawford, 
afraid  she  meant  to  go  out  of  the  room,  seized 
her  arm  impetuously. 

"Mrs.  Spenser — how  does  she  bear  it?" 

Ellice  uttered  a  sobbing  sigh.  She  answered 
afterward  almost  in  a  whisper,  dreading  the  effect 
of  any  reiteration  of  what  had  passed  upon 
Spenser.  He  had  gone  to  the  window,  and,  with 
a  hand  upon  the  drawn-back  curtain,  was  look- 
ing aimlessly  into  the  night.  With  a  rush  of 
words  she  told  Crawford  the  whole  scene  of  the 
afternoon.  After  the  first  phrase  it  eased  her. 
She  gave  him,  in  the  deeply  inbitten  freshness 
of  her  impression,  a  living  picture  of  Gillette's 
consummate  agony,  tlie  interminable  horror  of 
her  long,  devouring  silence,  the  heart-breaking 
sweetness  of  her  return  to  actual  surroundings. 

Her  own  voice  had  a  throbbing  music  as  she 
spoke,  and  through  it  Crawford  lived  with  her 
every  minute,  from  the  blade-like  cry  to  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair, to  the  moving  beauty  of  the  words,  "For- 
give me,"  when  the  heart  torn  piecemeal  yet 
gasped  out  only  what  was  tender  and  good. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  285 

And  he  felt  tired  and  sick  himself  with  the  force 
of  his  own  sensations  when  Ellice  ceased  speaking. 
Suffering  so  awful  that  it  could  find  ease  in  no 
cry,  no  gesture,  no  blind  or  incoherent  struggle, 
was  a  fact  Crawford  encountered  for  the  first 
time.  His  fat  face  grew  colorless,  and  the  cheeks 
looked  to  bag  with  a  sudden  collapsed  looseness. 
"Thank  you;  I  think  I  will  go  now,"  he  mut- 
tered as  Ellice  finished,  and  went  out  of  the  house 
stunned  by  knowledge  of  a  misery  inconceivable 
until  that  moment. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Three  days  later,  coming  to  inquire  how  both 
mother  and  child  fared,  Crawford  met  Gillette 
herself  in  the  garden.  She  was  carrying  her  baby. 
All  one  saw  of  her  burden,  however,  was  the  long 
white  shawl  he  had  been  wrapped  in,  and  a  trans- 
parent net  veil,  whose  lace  edge  fluttered  in  the 
tremulous,  light  wind.  The  nurse  sat  in  a  wicker 
chair  on  the  lawn,  waiting  till  the  mother's  arms 
were  willing  to  surrender  the  light  form  they 
held.  Mrs.  Sinclair  and  Ellice  remained  with  her, 
knowing  Gillette  at  this  time  grateful  to  be  left 
undisturbed. 

Crawford  noticed  in  passing  the  utter  weariness 
of  the  attitude  both  women  had  fallen  into.  But 
as  he  came  toward  them  he  caught  sight  of  Gil- 
lette, and  stopped  in  bewilderment.  In  her  pres- 
ence he  felt  both  conscious  of  a  sense  of  intru- 
sion and  also  of  a  certain  timidity.  The  dearth 
of  any  power  to  console  bowed  him  to  the  earth 
with  grief  and  humility.  And  as  she  came  slowly 
toward  him  he  felt  his  limbs  weaken  at  being 
allowed  a  place  in  so  beautiful  and  sacred  a 
tragedy. 

"Mrs.  Spenser,  do — I — intrude — trouble  you? 
Would  you  rather  I  went  away?" 

He  felt  like  a  floundering  elephant,  preposter- 
ous and  colossal. 

Gillette  looked  up  at  him,  the  sadness  of  her 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  287 

face  relieved  for  a  second  by  the  old  living  smile 
of  welcome. 

"No;  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  see  you,  when 
you  care  to  come." 

By  tacit  consent  they  walked  on  side  by  side 
along  the  gravel  walk,  where  the  laburnums  and 
lilac  and  crimson  rhododendrons  flung  into  the 
air  their  delicate,  moving  enticements.  Crawford 
felt  compressed  with  too  much  feeling;  but  he 
dared  not  speak.  He  wanted  to  ask  if  the  child 
were  better.  The  question  paralyzed  his  tongue. 
All  his  system  itched,  moreover,  to  tell  her  she 
was  not  utterly  alone  in  this  trouble — others 
mourned  in  sympathy;  but  it  appeared  a  species 
of  presumption.  What  was  his  participation  to 
her?  And  they  turned  at  the  end  of  the  sunny 
path  to  retrace  their  steps,  without  having  ex- 
changed a  word  since  their  gentle  greeting. 

"Mrs.  Spenser,  you  know  what  it  feels  like  when 
you  can't  help  some  one  -who  is  suffering,  and 
whom  you  care  for.  I  would  pour  the  blood 
out  of  my  veins  if  it  could  bring  you  happiness!" 

It  gushed  out  of  him  before  he  knew  what  he 
had  said.  He  had  no  sooner  spoken  than  he 
tugged  nervously  at  the  leaves  of  the  trees  as 
they  passed,  strewing  the  path  with  them.  His 
colossal  form  helped  to  oppress  him.  He  felt  him- 
self a  monstrosity,  towering  grotesquely  in  her 
fragrant  desolation.  Directly  the  words  had  es- 
caped he  could  have  bitten  his  tongue  out  with 
regret.  A  selfish  commonplace  had  been  thrust 
like  a  shaken  fist  at  her  gentleness.  She  did  not 
answer  immediately.  A  spot  of  red  crept  into 


288  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

her  cheeks  and  out  again,  and  she  looked  down 
at  the  face  concealed  behind  the  net  that  flowed 
from  against  her  heart  almost  to  the  ground. 

"Mr.  Crawford,  I  have — happiness.  Though  I 
cannot  now — but — grieve" — he  felt  the  sob  she 
mastered — "it  is  only  selfishly — for  myself.  Be- 
low there  is  happiness — that — he — will  never  weep 
our  earthly  tears — never — know — pain,  or  sorrow, 
or  sin.  God  in  His  goodness  has  spared  my  baby 
the — discipline  of  life.  I  do — not  know — how  to 
let  go — but — now — I  have  learned  to  feel — for  all 
mothers.  This  love  is  taken,  perhaps,  that  there 
should  be — more  love  to  give  to  others."  She 
paused,  trembling  visibly.  Then  she  added,  still 
lower:  "It  is  not  what  happens  that  makes  life 
— miserable.  Only — we  by  our  thoughts  do  that." 

The  fluttering  of  her  heart  forced  her  to  stop 
speaking.  Never,  except  to  Ellice,  had  she  ever 
given  a  revelation  torn  so  deep  out  of  herself. 
But  Crawford's  sympathy  had  the  burning  sin- 
cerity that  compels  an  answering  truth ;  she  could 
not  but  respond  involuntarily. 

Crawford  walked  on  in  silence,  confused  by  the 
vision  of  inward  beauty  given  to  him.  Every 
moment,  moreover,  he  craved  more  and  more  to 
throw  off  the  weight  of  his  secret  love,  to  tell 
her  of  its  pureness,  its  simplicity,  its  depths,  that 
in  her  goodness  she  might  keep  him  always  a 
little  place  in  her  thoughts  and  life.  In  the  end 
he  could  contain  it  no  longer.  Still  clutching  rest- 
lessly at  the  trees  as  they  passed,  he  discharged 
suddenly  the  emotions  choking  within  him,  turn- 
ing his  mental  conditions  inside  out  for  her  bene- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  289 

fit.  He  was  in  the  middle,  gesticulating  a  little 
with  one  large  red  hand,  when  Ellice  and  the 
nurse  came  toward  them.  Instantly  reaction  set 
in,  and  he  reviled  himself  and  them. 

"Gillette  dear,  your  mother  wants  you  to  sit 
down.  Mr.  Crawford,  won't  you  persuade  her? 
She  has  been  walking  a  long  time.  And,  sweet, 
your  arms  must  be  tired.  Let  me  take  baby  for 
a  little  while.  You  will  be  ill,  if  you  disregard 
all  orders." 

To  hear  Ellice  endear  Gillette  was  to  Crawford 
like  a  desecration.  He  suspected  too  much  not 
to  regard  Miss  Bastien's  friendly  attitude  to  the 
woman  she  deceived  as  disgusting. 

"Shall  /  take  baby,  mum?" 

"No,  no;  he  is  asleep,  thank  you,  nurse.  I  will 
sit  down,  but  he  is  not  heavy.  My  arms  feel  no 
weight  at  all." 

Over  her  mouth  passed  the  smile  that  comes 
only  from  a  refusal  of  tears,  a  smile  that  on  the 
ugliest  face  has  an  irresistible  grace  and  pathos. 
Crawford  longed  to  seize  her  poor  hands  and 
weep  his  sympathy  over  them,  as  a  libation 
poured  upon  a  sacred  shrine. 

Ellice  and  the  nurse  turned  back,  while  he  and 
Gillette  moved  to  a  high-back  garden-seat,  made 
of  wood,  and  newly  painted  white,  which  was 
set  in  a  natural  recess  at  the  end  of  the  path. 
Fir-trees  backed  it  with  sombre  green,  but  on 
either  side  rhododendrons  covered  in  red  flowers 
flung  sweet  color  about  them.  Mrs.  Sinclair, 
watching  the  two  sit  side  by  side,  commented 
to  Ellice  on  the  benefit  Gillette's  liking  to  Craw- 
19 


290  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

ford  was.  If  he  only  took  her  thoughts  for  a 
few  minutes  from  the  coming  trouble,  it  must 
give  the  poor  overtaxed  brain  a  rest. 

Ellice  assented  wearily.  When  Spenser  was  ab- 
sent, the  jaded  condition  of  her  mind,  no  longer 
desperately  controlled,  gave  itself  the  sorry  ease 
of  frankness,  and  she  felt  night  and  day  as  if  too 
much  trouble  had  sucked  blood  out  of  her.  On  a 
mad  morning — mad  with  the  young  audacious 
voice  of  spring — she  had  made  a  promise  that 
ever  since  had  been  like  sharp  teeth  tearing  at 
her  brain.  That  it  had  ever  taken  place  except 
as  a  playful  concession  to  the  ecstasy  of  a  garden 
in  May  was  incredible.  It  had  been  but  the 
rounding  note  to  the  throbbing  murmur  of  the 
flowers  and  birds  and  scented  atmosphere,  drawn 
out  of  a  soul  that,  like  the  spring  itself,  had 
known  the  heart-sick  chill  of  a  long,  long  winter. 
A  few  minutes  in  the  house,  and  everything  was 
already  repudiated.  The  future  proposed,  rosy 
and  heart-filling  out  there  in  the  sun,  shrivelled 
in  the  house  to  its  old  hideousness  of  aspect. 
There  was  no  happiness  in  it.  How  could  there 
be,  when  remorse  and  pity  stood  ready  to  destroy 
each  germ  of  peace  as  it  arose? 

The  overtopping  disaster  that  had  ended  the 
day  had  at  first  seemed  in  this  much,  at  least, 
to  help  her,  in  that  it  wiped  out  the  very  ground- 
work of  the  pitiable  consent.  "She  has  the  child," 
was  the  phrase  Spenser  had  conquered  with. 
Upon  that  she  had  yielded.  The  new  calamity 
fallen  upon  the  woman  to  be  betrayed  and  aban- 
doned, however,  tore  away  the  balance  of  well- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  291 

being.  Gillette,  without  the  child,  stood  destitute 
of  comfort,  pierced  in  her  pride,  in  her  trust,  in 
her  love,  in  her  lifelong  friendship.  Practically, 
they  left  her  denuded  of  everything.  But  Ellice, 
gasping  for  an  hour  or  two  with  relief  at  a  horri- 
ble danger  avoided,  learnt  within  a  day  of  the  doc- 
tor's verdict  that  nothing  could  permanently  de- 
stroy Spenser's  determination  to  escape  with  her. 
Regardless  of  the  child's  condition,  his  eyes  pursued 
her  with  a  look  alarming  in  its  indiscretion.  The 
evening  before,  as  she  held  her  hand  out  to  him 
before  retiring,  her  blood  had  chilled  at  the  look 
riveted  upon  her  face.  Had  he  shouted,  "I  keep 
you  to  your  promise,"  the  publicity,  she  felt, 
would  have  been  but  very  little  greater.  As  she 
sat  by  Mrs.  Sinclair  in  the  sun,  this  incident  was 
uppermost.  Cruel  and  inexorable,  Spenser  had 
not  only  the  strength  of  his  sex  against  the  weak- 
ness of  her  love,  but  the  added  power  of  his  forty 
years  of  ill-health  and  disillusion. 

"How  absurd  it  is  always  to  judge  by  actions ! 
It  is  the  thoughts  that  make  character,  not  one's 
puppet-like  actions,"  she  exclaimed  suddenly, 
speaking  in  weakly  distress,  irrelevantly  to  Mrs. 
Sinclair,  whose  watery  eyes  never  left  the  figure  on 
the  distant  seat,  with  its  burden  of  shapeless  white. 

"What  did  you  say,  my  dear?"  she  asked,  not 
having  heard  a  word  the  other  uttered. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  Ellice  replied  wearily,  far  from 
knowing  that  a  few  minutes  earlier  Gillette  had 
given  utterance  to  much  the  same  idea — that  it 
is  in  the  spirit  a  man's  life  dwells,  and  that  it  is 
in  the  thoughts  created  by  it,  and  not  in  external 


292  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

incidents,  that  the  real  essence  of  any  human  ex- 
istence abides. 

At  that  moment  Gillette  and  Crawford  rose 
from  the  seat  between  the  rhododendron  bushes. 
The  sun  no  longer  fell  there,  and  it  was  from  the 
sun  the  poor  mother  still  in  the  recesses  of  her 
heart  hoped  beneficent  things  might  come. 

Crawford  had  emptied  himself  of  secrets,  asking 
for  counsel  how  from  now  onward  to  make  his 
conduct  condone  the  vapid  past.  But  to  his  ques- 
tion, "What  shall  I  do?"  Gillette  had  no  fortify- 
ing answer  lying  ready  on  the  tongue.  On  the 
contrary,  the  demand  made  her  feel  stupid  and 
bewildered.  She,  so  weak  and  erring,  how  could 
she  presume  to  advise  another?  Yet  one  thing 
she  knew  could  lift  life  above  the  storms  he  spoke 
of — the  storms  of  disillusion,  boredom,  disgust, 
and  loneliness — to  ask  nothing  for  one's  self,  and 
to  keep  steadfast  in  the  endeavor  to  bring  others 
help  and  happiness.  A  life  blameless  of  harm  to 
others  could  not  but  be  sweet-smelling  and  fresh, 
as  linen  newly  washed. 

Crawford  saw  by  her  face  that  she  thought 
deeply. 

"Don't  try  to  think  now,"  he  said  hastily; 
"another  time  we  can  talk  again.  Very  likely 
you'll  make  me  see  something  to  do,  one  day 
when  you  are  not  meaning  to.  And,  Mrs.  Spen- 
ser, you'll  forgive  me  for  telling  you  all  this, 
won't  you?  I  love  you  beyond  all  words.  I 
would  give  anything  if  you  could  be  my  sister. 
But  you  do  feel  as  a  friend  to  me,  don't  you — 
you  feel  that  I  am  a  friend?" 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  293 

He  was  conscious  of  the  egoism  of  his  appeal 
without  being  able  to  resist  it ;  but  Gillette  gave 
him  undivided  attention,  and  prayed  as  she  sat 
there  that  she  might  be  shown  how  to  help  this 
friend,  who  for  all  his  round,  smiling  face  seemed 
in  such  sore  need  of  comfort. 

"Mr.  Crawford,"  she  replied,  still  in  answer  to 
his  previous  request  for  counsel,  "I  only  know 
one  thing,  and  it  sounds  incongruous,  but  it  is 
not  minding  about  one's  own  happiness  at  all. 
People  say  now  that  one's  duties  are  primarily 
to  one's  self— to  one's  individuality.  They  con- 
demn self-sacrifice ;  but  please  do  not  believe  that. 
I  know  so  little,  but  this  I  know :  only  by  sacri- 
fice can  real  happiness  come.  I  mean  by  giving 
up  for  others,  by  thinking  how  to  give  pleasure, 
and  then  the  happiness  is  so  great  a  person 
might  almost  grow  afraid.  It  is  so  much."  She 
stopped,  and  then,  after  a  pause,  added  more 
timidly:  "Thank  you  for  asking  me  to  be  your 
friend.  I  hope  we  shall  always  be  that  now." 

It  was  the  shy,  half-childish  answer  of  a  very 
young  girl ;  but  to  Crawford  some  of  the  charm 
of  Gillette's  utterances  arose  from  their  total 
lack  of  accomplished  manner.  To  him  everything 
she  said  was  like  running  water  in  a  quiet  pas- 
toral country,  where  the  sky  rose  a  great  arch 
never  wholly  out  of  one's  vision.  She  brought 
the  sky  always  before  his  eyes.  Her  present  an- 
swer, moreover,  entered  into  his  spirit  like  a  holy 
benediction.  He  murmured  again  under  his 
breath : 

"If  I  could  only  help  you!" 


294  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Gillette,  but  with  lips  that 
trembled  once  more.  She  pressed  the  white  shape 
in  her  arms  a  little  closer.  Then  they  rose  and 
•walked  in  silence  up  and  down  the  gravel  walk 
once  more. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

For  another  five  weeks  the  heartrending  drama 
continued.  And  as  no  great  change  marked  each 
succeeding  day,  the  tension  throughout  the  house 
grew,  till  each  one  of  them  felt  as  if  death  slowly 
outlined  itself  as  a  palpable  presence  among  them, 
looming  vague  and  immense  in  every  room.  At 
last,  only  the  stricken  mother  could  resist  a  long- 
ing that  the  blow  would  fall  quickly.  To  wait 
and  wait  for  a  death  inevitable,  but  lingering  at 
every  step,  contained  a  horror  surpassing  all  final- 
ity. Every  day,  also,  some  piteous  incident  oc- 
curred to  wring  their  hearts.  The  child  suffered, 
and  Gillette's  expression  exhausted  the  very  on- 
lookers with  pity.  On  the  other  hand,  he  would 
show  signs  of  a  feeble  rallying,  when  her  irresist- 
ible grasp  of  hope,  to  those  who  knew  the  end 
inflexibly  determined,  was  as  pain-giving  as  her 
despair. 

"Oh,  mother,"  she  said  once,  shedding  for  glad- 
ness the  first  tears  they  had  seen  upon  her  face, 
"he  is  getting  better.  A  child  who  laughs  and 
cooes  is  never  dangerously  ill." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  replied  without  clear  knowledge 
of  what  she  said,  and,  in  repeating  the  brief 
scene  to  Ellice  and  Spenser  afterward,  exclaimed 
that  her  brain  would  snap  if  the  strain  continued 
much  longer. 

But  none  knew,    though    Crawford   gradually 


296  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

suspected  something  of  it,  that  Gillette  bore  a 
double  misery  at  this  time.  In  the  first  few  hours 
of  shock  she  had  forgotten,  or  at  any  rate  had 
ceased  to  realize,  the  scene  enacted  in  the  garden. 
But  slowly,  with  a  sinister  surety,  it  had  crept 
back  into  its  former  place  in  her  mind.  As  she 
sat  by  her  child's  cradle,  or  walked  with  him  in 
her  arms,  this  impression  of  a  double  calamity 
would  arise  and  over-whelm  her.  She  grew  afraid 
sometimes  of  her  reason  foundering  under  the 
pressure  put  upon  it. 

Every  day  her  manner  to  Spenser  and  Ellice 
grew  involuntarily  more  hesitating,  for  every  day 
little  symptoms  arose  to  heap  coals  upon  her  re- 
luctant understanding.  Through  all  the  preoc- 
cupation of  her  private  grief,  there  could  not  but 
penetrate  many  signs  to  assist  comprehension. 
When  they  spoke  to  one  another  at  last,  she  ex- 
perienced a  fright  nothing  seemed  to  make  reason- 
able. At  the  same  time,  their  silences  grew  to 
her  equally  ominous.  What  were  they  thinking 
of,  then?  Their  desire  to  live  frankly  and  freely? 
In  the  eyes  of  both,  now  she  knew  their  secret, 
she  saw  restlessness  grow  incessantly.  They  sel- 
dom sat  still  when  they  were  in  the  same  room. 
The  furtive  longing  to  find  some  excuse  to  get 
away  together  was  so  powerful  an  emanation 
Gillette  felt  it  reach  even  to  her.  With  intuitive 
sympathy  she  more  than  once  found  the  words 
upon  her  tongue  that  would  give  them  a  facile 
reason  for  going  together  into  the  garden  or 
another  room.  Then  she  would  be  horror-stricken 
at  her  own  tacit  connivance.  She  saw  the  love, 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  397 

the  pain,  the  wearying  suppression,  of  their  days, 
and  in  her  simpleness  frequently  forgot  that  this 
love  was  equally  treacherous  and  wrong. 

Whenever  it  flashed  upon  her,  she  had  a  period 
of  sick  perplexity,  of  spasmodic,  inexplicable  ter- 
ror. In  long,  absorbed  prayers  she  would  then 
plead  Ellice's  case  before  the  compassion  of  her 
Lord.  She  explained  to  Him  how  love  came  in 
a  human  heart  unknown  and  against  inclination ; 
also  its  awful  strength,  and  the  misery  Ellice  had 
suffered.  Overflowing  with  love  for  her  friend, 
she  prayed  to  be  sacrificed  in  any  fashion  if  in 
that  way  help  might  be  given  to  these  two,  and 
in  her  night  vigils,  beside  the  uneasy  cradle  of  her 
son,  she  poured  out  endless  petitions,  not  for  his 
life — that  she  had  already  given  into  the  Divine 
care  of  the  Christ  who  had  said  "Suffer  little 
children  to  come  unto  Me" — but  for  Ellice,  and 
for  this  disastrous,  unblessed  affection. 

In  this  unchanging  distress,  the  days  drew  on 
to  the  supreme  climax.  And  as  if  the  two  blows 
were  always  to  fall  together,  it  was  during  the 
last  hours  of  the  child's  fading  existence  that  Gil- 
lette attained  complete  vision  of  the  inevitable 
crisis  to  the  tragedy  being  enacted  side  by  side 
with  this  other  in  the  house.  She  did  not  learn 
it  like  the  rest  by  any  action  of  either ;  it  came 
to  her  through  a  look  she  had  seen  in  Spenser's 
eyes  as  he  had  said  good-night  at  the  door  of 
her  bedroom.  Accustomed  to  the  pity  resident 
in  them  during  the  past  few  weeks,  she  had 
noticed  suddenly  an  expression  of  sullen  antagon- 
ism. She  felt  that  he  hated  her.  Why?  As  she 


298  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

slipped  out  of  her  clothes  into  her  cool  night- 
gown, she  could  still  fancy  his  eyes  looking  at 
her  with  the  same  exasperated  hate,  and  below 
this  hate  some  growing  hostile  intention.  Far 
into  the  night  she  sought  uselessly  an  explanation 
for  this  new  inimical  purpose,  until  finally,  with 
a  smothered  cry,  she  saw  not  only  the  meaning 
of  Spenser's  expression,  but  the  full  extent  of 
the  danger  every  hour  almost  intensified.  Spen- 
ser wanted  Ellice  at  any  cost,  and  Ellice — what 
would  Ellice  do?  In  extreme  agony  Gillette 
crouched  on  the  floor  by  her  child's  bassinette, 
hiding  her  face  in  her  hands,  while  she  strove  to 
feel  assured  that  Ellice  remained  safe,  secure  in 
the  strength  of  her  own  beautiful  nature.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  brain  stretched  with  the  effort 
made  to  bring  forth  this  clear  conviction.  And 
then  low,  despairingly,  with  a  sadness  infinite  in 
its  vanquishment,  Gillette  groaned  as  she  had 
never  done  for  the  child  God  had  asked  back  of 
her. 

For,  oh,  God!  she  did  not  know  what  Ellice 
would  do.  Abruptly  the  sickening  danger  of  the 
girl's  position  flowed  over  her.  She  grasped 
everything:  the  fight  her  husband  would  never 
relinquish,  never  relax,  that  not  even  this  tragic 
death  could  temporarily  extinguish,  and  Ellice's 
entrenchments  as  they  fell  one  by  one,  beaten 
down  by  a  fury  of  desire  at  last  irresistible. 

The  atrocity  of  the  condition  one  weak  mo- 
ment might  bring  about  for  this  girl  fell  like 
stones  on  Gillette's  heart.  Was  there  nothing 
she  could  do?  Die?  She  would  have  died  with- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  299 

out  a  thought  had  suicide  been  anything  more 
than  another  sin  piled  uselessly  upon  the  other. 
For  she  knew  Ellice  well  enough  to  know  at 
least  that  such  a  death  would  but  be  like  a 
sword-thrust  henceforward  between  Spenser  and 
herself. 

"Oh,  my  God,"  she  prayed,  "keep  Ellice's  soul 
from  sin;  dear  Lord,  keep  this  dear  soul  from 
sin." 

Next  morning  her  haggard  appearance  alarmed 
them  all.  The  moment  breakfast  was  over  she 
rose  and  left  the  room. 

"The  boy  is  worse,  and  she  knows  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Sinclair  sadly  to  the  other  two.  "She  looks 
deathly;  I  daren't  say  a  word,  for  I  think  she 
couldn't  bear  it.  Poor  child,  poor  child!" 

There  was  no  answer.  During  breakfast  Ellice 
had  experienced  a  disturbing  sense  of  a  change 
toward  her  personally  in  Gillette's  manner.  It 
was  neither  reproach  nor  hostility.  She  could 
express  the  impression  only  by  saying  that,  in 
spite  of  an  increase  in  trouble,  the  other  had  ab- 
stained from  all  the  mute,  silent  appeals  for  sym- 
pathy instinctive  between  the  two.  Gillette  had 
deliberately  looked  at  her  once  only,  and  then  her 
gaze  had  been  more  frightened  than  anything; 
there  had  been  absolutely  no  intimacy  in  it. 

Like  little  burning  flames  fitful  terrors  rose  in 
the  girl's  mind.  Had  Gillette  seen  anything  or 
heard?  Had  a  dire  suspicion  come  to  her  at 
last?  Spenser  and  she  had  only  been  alone  a  few 
seconds  the  day  before,  on  the  stone  steps  out- 
side the  morning-room.  But  he  had  whispered, 


300  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

"I  love  you — I  love  you,"  with  a  feverish  reitera- 
tion that  might  have  carried  the  -words  into  the 
room  behind  them.  In  it  Gillette  -was  -writing  a 
few  brief  letters.  Could  she  have  heard?  The 
bare  idea  -was  insupportable. 

Ellice  rose  and  went  upstairs.  If  Gillette  knew 
anything,  alone  -with  her  it  could  not  but  fling 
itself  out  in  impassioned  reproach  or  en- 
treaty. 

Gillette  -was  in  the  nursery,  and  her  first  sen- 
tence dispersed  suspicion.  It  breathed  out  tender- 
ness, and  Ellice  drew  air  into  her  lungs  with  a 
deep  sigh  of  gratitude.  Yet  at  the  end  of  the  day 
disquietude  had  returned;  Gillette  was  not  the 
same  as  yesterday.  Through  all  the  deepening 
gloom  that  grew  hour  by  hour,  as  hour  by  hour 
the  little  flicker  of  life  in  its  foam-like  cradle  less- 
ened, the  change  in  Gillette's  manner  remained 
conspicuous.  From  Mrs.  Sinclair  Ellice  learnt 
that  again  and  again,  when  she  was  not  with  her, 
Gillette  inquired,  "Where  is  Ellice?"  while  never 
in  her  presence  had  the  other  seemed  to  need  her 
less.  Indeed,  her  manner  betrayed  a  sense  of  dis- 
comfort and  nervousness  quite  incomprehensible 
•without  the  explanation  Ellice,  for  very  endur- 
ance' sake,  dared  not  give  to  it. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  the  true  one.  She  was  no 
sooner  out  of  sight  than  Gillette  shivered  with 
nameless  fears.  She  saw  her  -with  Spenser,  felt 
him  draw  her  literally  by  the  hands  out  of  the 
house.  She,  Gillette,  knew  the  force  of  his  per- 
suasive phrases,  had  melted  herself  like  a  little 
candle  through  their  power.  And  Ellice,  who 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  301 

prayed  no  prayers  for  help,  how  could  she  with- 
stand? They  would  go  on,  these  cries  of  yearning, 
till  she  was  like  a  vessel  full  of  nothing  else ;  they 
would  fall  like  snow,  like  flakes  that  come  and 
come  and  come,  bewildering,  endless.  In  the  end, 
smothered  by  them,  the  girl  would  grow  numbed 
and  stupefied.  She  would  go,  no  longer  able  to 
feel  or  see  for  the  flakes  or  whirling  mist  about 
her  weary,  blinded  person. 

And  this  would  be  the  death  of  a  soul,  not  of  a 
mere  body  whose  spirit  the  Lord  had  garnered. 
Oh !  to  think  that  Ellice,  so  sweet  and  soft,  should 
know  henceforward  no  beautiful,  blameless  quiet, 
hold  no  more  the  peace  that  passeth  understand- 
ing. She  saw  her,  during  her  tortured  visions, 
bleeding  from  the  stones  cast  by  a  society  more 
sinning  than  herself,  with  a  face  worn  and  old  by 
desire  for  the  innocence  none  could  give  her  back. 
Poor  outcast !  broken  on  the  wheel  of  a  dream, 
the  dream  of  ignorance  and  inexperience. 

For  two  more  days  her  double  anguish  contin- 
ued. Slowly  the  child  sank,  moaning  feebly  for 
a  pain  unknown.  Night  and  day  the  room  re- 
mained in  semi-darkness.  The  little  life  had  re- 
treated beyond  the  visible  light  so  far  that  the 
sun's  rays  in  his  room  would  have  been  unbear- 
able. Toward  the  evening  of  the  second  day  his 
pulse  was  no  longer  perceptible.  The  nurse  placed 
a  hand  upon  the  tiny  body — it  was  like  ice.  Be- 
fore she  could  speak,  Gillette,  standing  upon  the 
opposite  side  of  the  bassinette,  laid  her  own  there 
also.  Her  face  turned  ash-colored.  She  tried  to 
speak;  the  words  were  soundless.  Slowly  she 


302  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

lifted  the  chill  body  into  her  arms,  staring  at  it  as 
if  wild  and  hungry  for  the  sight. 

For  a  long  while  she  held  it  passionately  in  her 
arms.  Finally  the  nurse  whispered  to  Ellice: 

"He  is  dead !  Won't  you  take  Mrs.  Spenser 
away?  The  child  is  quite  dead." 

"Dead?  No,  my  child  is  not  dead!  My  baby 
has  gone  to  heaven,  where  he  will  never  sin,  never 
have  a  sin  upon  his  soul!  Oh,  Lord,  into  Thy 
keeping  I  commend  his  spirit!" 

She  spoke  with  a  cry  that  might  any  moment 
have  grown  into  a  scream.  As  it  was,  its  pitiful 
wildness  showed  the  nearness  of  insanity. 

"She  is  going  to  faint!"  exclaimed  Ellice,  rush- 
ing forward  with  the  nurse.  They  pushed  her 
into  a  chair  and  took  the  inanimate  form  out  of 
her  arms. 

For  a  second  she  stared  desperately  at  them, 
then  suddenly  rose  to  her  feet  again  with  a  shriek 
that  tore  through  everything,  as  if  a  living  agony 
were  making  its  maddened  escape  from  her: 

"Oh,  God!    Thy  will  be " 

Before  she  could  finish  she  fell  face  downward 
before  the  dead  body  lying  rigid  in  the  nurse's 
arms. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

During  the  days  that  followed  she  continued 
stunned,  only  narrowly  escaping  brain-fever.  For 
hours  after  being  brought  to  she  lay  in  a  state  of 
stupor,  making  no  effort  to  see  the  little  body  so 
carefully  got  ready  for  her,  as  if  prepared  for  some 
living  ceremonial.  They  had  dreaded  an  insistent 
refusal  to  leave  the  room  where  the  tiny  corpse 
lay.  But  she  seemed  not  even  aware  of  what  had 
occurred,  neither  speaking  of  the  child  nor  making 
an  effort  to  see  him.  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  been 
warned,  however,  that  at  any  moment  this  merci- 
ful stupor  might  lift.  And  on  the  following  even- 
ing, almost  exactly  at  the  time  the  little  life  had 
passed  away  on  the  previous  day,  she  suddenly 
lifted  her  head,  and  said  to  her  mother,  sitting 
patiently  by  the  bed: 

"I  want  to  pray  by  my  baby.  I  have  much  to 
pray  for — and  I  am  tired.  God  will  have  mercy, 
won't  He,  if  I  forget  some  things?  God  is  mercy — 
but,  oh,  I  should — be  praying  now — praying  all 
the  time !  Only  prayer  can  save — and  I  have  not 
prayed — since ' ' 

She  spoke  in  low,  disjointed  phrases.  Visibly 
the  mind  was  not  yet  under  control.  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair considered  her  half  delirious.  To  thwart  her, 
however,  would,  she  feared,  only  increase  excite- 
ment, and,  with  considerable  common-sense,  she 


304  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

said  she  should  go  and  see  her  baby  if  she  wished, 
so  beautiful,  so  unmistakably  at  peace.  Only  she 
must  not  stay,  for  she  (Gillette)  was  very  far 
from  well  again.  To  pray  just  now  for  any 
length  of  time  would  endanger  her  life. 

Gillette  looked  at  her  piteously,  and  got  out  of 
bed  repeating,  in  a  dazed  undertone : 

"I  must  pray;  only  prayer  can  save." 

When  they  entered  the  room,  already  a  sea  of 
flowers  flowing  in  waves  about  the  lacy  bed,  as  if 
for  some  virginal,  sacred  festival,  Ellice  and  Spen- 
ser -were  standing  by  the  snowy  cot. 

The  day  before  Spenser  had  refused  to  go  into 
the  chamber  of  death.  He  had  never  seen  a  dead 
body,  and  the  mere  idea  of  gazing  upon  anything 
so  loathsome  to  him  flung  him  in  a  bath  of 
sweat.  He  would  see  death  if  he  did  every  day  of 
his  life — be  dead  practically  before  his  time.  All  he 
looked  at  afterward  would  be  intercepted  by  this 
dead  body.  At  any  moment  some  pleasant  living 
thing — God  knows  what — might  by  the  diabolical 
twist  of  association  bring  up  this  hideous  death 
he  abhorred,  and  which  he  desired  so  passionately 
to  give  no  thought  to  until  the  last  inevitable 
moment. 

But  gradually  this  dead  child  commenced  to 
draw  him  by  an  awful  fascination.  A  horrible 
curiosity  slowly  possessed  him  to  know  the  worst, 
to  look  this  worm-worshipped  death  boldly  in  the 
face,  and  see  if  fear  could  not  be  brazened  into 
subjection.  Before  the  afternoon  ended  the  desire 
had  become  a  necessity.  He  could  not  continue 
with  the  lifeless  thing  in  the  house  and  not  see  it. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  305 

Like  a  sinister  will  bent  hour  by  hour  to  force  his 
own  into  surrender,  his  dead  son  beat  upon 
his  nerves.  Breathing  hard,  he  had  waited  until 
Ellice  was  about  to  take  a  freshly  arrived  wreath 
into  the  room,  and  then  said  brusquely: 

"I  must  go  in  there,  too,  and  see  him;  but  I 
can't  go  alone.  Take  me,  Ellice." 

He  clutched  at  her  hand  as  they  entered.  Only 
by  retaining  hold  of  her  warm,  abounding  life  did 
he  feel  capable  of  fulfilling  his  purpose,  and  of 
looking  his  enemy  at  last  in  the  face.  Without 
Ellice  to  seize  afterward,  without  Ellice  to  drink 
in  visually  the  moment  he  had  turned  away  once 
more,  disgust  would  probably  annihilate  him. 

The  first  impression  upon  the  threshold  was  the 
overpowering  sweetness  exhaling  from  the  flowers 
strewn  over  a  sheet  upon  the  floor;  his  second, 
repulsion  at  the  whiteness  that  lay  heaped  in  cold 
profusion  about  the  shell-shaped  bassinette.  Why 
on  earth  not  have  disguised  dreariness  by  a  mass 
of  color?  There  were  roses  enough,  and  this 
blank  whiteness  chilled  one's  blood.  They  went 
up  to  the  cot.  If  it  had  stood  by  itself,  Spenser 
felt  imagination  might  have  been  lulled  by  it  into 
an  illusion  of  kindly,  simple  sleep.  This  barricade 
of  blanched  blossoms  drove  death's  presence  into 
one's  breast  with  a  tactless  bravado. 

Ellice  drew  back  the  lace  and  muslin  curtains. 

"He  looks  beautiful!"  she  said,  for  which  sen- 
tence Spenser,  though  but  for  a  second,  could  have 
shaken  her.  A  phrase  like  that  was  part  of  the 
lying  conventionalism  of  a  death-chamber.  Ellice 
at  least  ought  to  have  been  above  it.  But  as  she 
20 


306  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

held  aside  the  white  hangings,  with  a  last  strug- 
gle against  reluctance  he  looked  down  at  the  still 
form  resting  on  the  coverlet  of  lace. 

Surprise  shook  him  from  head  to  foot.  He 
gazed  at  a  tiny  wax  doll,  grotesque  through  its 
littleness  in  all  the  elaborate  paraphernalia  of  woe 
surrounding  it.  Had  it  ever  been  alive,  this  curi- 
ous waxen  image?  Nothing  repulsive  appertained 
to  it,  because  also  nothing  human.  There  was 
nothing  to  shrink  from,  because  nothing  remained 
to  bespeak  a  life  at  all.  The  infinitesimal  face, 
and  infinitesimal  hands  folded  peacefully  upon  the 
tiny  breast,  gave  the  appearance  of  being  carved 
in  a  delicate  shade  of  ivory.  Not  for  a  second  did 
one  receive  the  shock  of  gazing  upon  a  face  out  of 
which  all  human  qualities  have  been  abruptly 
expunged — a  face  familiar  alive,  and  seen  suddenly 
dead,  empty,  waiting  hideously  for  the  hands  of 
corruption. 

Spenser's  relief  was  so  great  he  could  not  speak, 
continuing  to  stare  down  at  the  shrunken  little 
form  as  if  his  enemy  had  suddenly  fallen  under  his 
feet.  In  truth,  he  told  himself,  if  this  was  death, 
it  was  not  an  event  to  cringe  under ;  on  the  con- 
trary, for  the  weariness  of  old  age,  actually  an 
excellent  institution. 

At  that  moment  Gillette  and  her  mother  entered 
the  room.  Gillette  no  sooner  saw  her  husband 
and  Ellice  together  than  a  look  of  agitation  came 
into  her  face. 

"Not  here — you  must  not  come  in  here!"  she 
said,  with  a  trembling  violence  only  Ellice  com- 
prehended. To  Spenser  and  Mrs.  Sinclair  she 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  307 

spoke  from  an  intelligence  temporarily  submerged. 
"I  must  pray,"  she  continued  more  gently,  and 
the  look  she  gave  them  was  touching  in  its  ap- 
peal, so  clear  gleamed  the  unuttered  statement 
made  that  it  was  a  soul  in  which  only  sorrow 
remained  intact.  "Leave  me,"  she  said  again,  as 
they  merely  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass.  They 
dared  not,  however,  all  go,  aware  that  at  any 
moment  she  might  again  fall  unconscious.  Mrs. 
Sinclair  therefore  remained  by  the  window. 

For  a  long  while  Gillette  gazed  motionless  at 
her  dead  son.  Then  she  looked,  as  if  in  surprise, 
at  all  the  scented  flowers  laid  about  him,  and 
wearily  dropped  upon  her  knees.  She  prayed  in 
silence,  but  moaning  now  and  again.  When  she 
had  knelt  some  time,  Mrs.  Sinclair  went  over  to 
persuade  her  back  to  bed. 

A  little  wail  shuddered  out  of  her,  but  after  a 
second  she  rose  obediently.  Once  more  she  laid 
her  white  face  against  the  other  she  had  sur- 
rendered so  meekly.  Her  lips  moved,  whispering 
unheard  the  last  endearments  of  her  motherhood. 
Then  she  moved  quietly  away,  not  one  of  them 
knowing  that  she  had  been  robbed  even  of  the 
slender  consolation  that,  but  for  her  husband  and 
Ellice,  could  still  have  been  hers,  the  peace  to 
mourn,  the  quiet  of  mind  to  feel  the  sacredness  of 
grief  utterly  holy.  For  they  had  torn  her,  with 
their  sinful,  ugly  drama,  even  from  the  tears  of 
her  child's  white  death-chamber,  sullying  with  an 
appalling  anxiety  the  hours  that,  for  all  their 
anguish,  might  yet  have  held  many  beneficent 
thoughts. 


308  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

Not  even  her  despair  had  been  left  unstained  by 
them.  Here,  kneeling  by  her  child's  bassinette,  in 
the  place  now  hallowed  to  her,  she  had  not  even 
leisure  to  give  grief  way.  She  must  think  pre- 
eminently for  them — think  and  pray  to  find  some 
means  to  save.  All  day  she  must  keep  her  mind 
on  the  tragedy  that  was  not  ended,  that  perhaps 
God  would  grant  her  to  prevent.  Truly  they  had 
overtopped  her  brain  with  misery ;  she  must  rest 
to  think.  As  she  passed  them  on  her  way  to  the 
bed-room,  she  caught  hold  of  one  of  Ellice's  hands. 
She  dropped  it  the  moment  after,  but  with  un- 
precedented excitement  murmured  to  her  mother : 

"Look  after  Ellice — while  I  rest.  I  want  her  to 
stay  with  you." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  soothed  her  with  instant  assent, 
while  the  tears  gushed  into  her  eyes.  Even  in  her 
extremity,  thought  the  elder  woman,  she  lived  for 
others,  remembering  the  dreariness  of  such  a 
house  for  her  friend,  a  young  girl  as  yet  untried 
in  sorrows. 

Ellice's  face  had  whitened. 

"She  suspects  something,"  she  said  to  Spenser, 
as  Gillette's  door  closed  behind  her  and  Mrs. 
Sinclair. 

"Good  God,  child!  what  nonsense!  Don't,  for 
pity's  sake,  dear,  let  us  harbor  any  more  morbid 
thoughts.  Come  downstairs  and  have  some  tea." 

"No,  no!    I  hate  you!" 

Before  he  could  answer,  she  had  gone  at  a  run 
along  the  corridor.  He  heard  the  key  turn  in  the 
door  of  her  bedroom. 

Spenser  felt  jarred  by  this  unexpected  display  of 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  309 

hysteria.  Ellice's  withdrawal,  moreover,  left  him 
undefended  against  depression.  Nevertheless,  for 
her  he  had  sympathy.  That  she  had  withstood 
so  long  was  to  her  credit. 

On  the  following  afternoon,  in  blazing  sunlight, 
to  the  song  of  birds  and  under  a  blazing  sky, 
little  Patrick  Spenser  was  buried.  Of  the  brief  life 
that  had  been  a  miracle  to  the  heart  of  its  mother, 
nothing  remained  by  sunset  but  a  piled-up  mass 
of  flowers,  themselves  already  fading  and  yellow. 

Gillette  was  not  present  at  the  funeral.  She  sat 
all  day  in  an  armchair  by  the  side  of  her  bed, 
never  making  a  voluntary  movement,  never  open- 
ine  her  lips  except  to  answer  her  mother's  en- 
treaties. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

It  was  several  days  after  the  funeral  before 
Gillette  went  again  into  the  nursery,  desiring 
supremely  to  be  there  alone.  She  found,  however, 
nothing  touched.  The  empty  cradle  stood  in  its 
usual  place ;  the  covered  basket,  with  its  little  sil- 
ver brushes  and  powder-box,  remained  by  the  fire. 
Only  throughout  the  room  were  sprays  of  snow- 
white  flowers,  placed  by  Ellice  for  fear  the 
mother's  poor  heart  might  break  at  the  new  look 
of  vacancy  the  room  had  -worn  after  the  little 
body  ceased  to  rest  in  it. 

Slowly  Gillette  turned  away  from  the  void 
cradle,  unable  to  sustain  the  thoughts  called  up. 
She  went  to  the  chest  of  drawers  in  which  were 
folded  all  the  little  garments  of  the  dead  child. 
For  the  first  time  on  the  previous  day,  while  sort- 
ing them  for  the  nurse  to  put  away,  tears  had 
fallen  from  her  eyes.  To-day  she  gazed  a  little, 
and  then  shut  the  drawers  again.  The  unrest 
hourly  increasing  did  not  hold  even  her  baby's 
room  sacred :  it  intruded  here. 

"I  have  no  child,  no  husband,  and  Ellice's  soul, 
dear  God,  I  know  not  how  to  save — Ellice's  soul 
and  future  peace." 

She  could  not  remain  in  the  room.  Driven  from 
it  by  a  bewildered  need  of  action,  she  walked 
slowly  downstairs.  It  was  the  first  time  since  the 
child's  death  she  had  gone  beyond  his  room.  The 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  311 

library  door  was  open.  She  went  in,  conscious 
that  the  familiar  aspect  of  the  house  held  curious 
power  to  wound.  Dear  God !  it  was  so  unaltered, 
and  yet  every  life  in  it  was  seared  and  wounded. 
Frightened  by  a  return  of  pain  at  her  heart,  she 
went  over  to  the  fireplace,  and  leaned  her  fore- 
head upon  the  cool  of  the  marble  mantelpiece. 

"Ellice,  come  here.    Girl,  I  am  ill;  come  to  me." 

Gillette  stood  upright  in  an  instant.  From  the 
music-room  Spenser's  voice  reached  to  her, 
charged  with  an  intensity  of  feeling  she  had  not 
known  it  capable  of.  In  spite  of  the  tone  of  com- 
mand, it  was  sick  with  desire  and  pain. 

"Dear,  have  pity.    I  can't — I  love  Gillette." 

All  the  supplication  of  Ellice's  voice  travelled, 
still  quivering  with  its  weakness,  into  the  heart  of 
the  woman  who  overheard. 

"Oh,  how  she  suffers!  and  she  spoke  my  name 
in  love.  The  word  'Gillette'  fell  from  her  like  a 
heart-broken  sigh.  But  she  sues  to  him  for  pity 
as  a  child  to  a  powerful  master.  She  has  no 
strength  in  herself  to  resist.  Oh,  my  poor  Ellice ! 
and  she  loves  me." 

The  unexpected  assurance  that  the  girl  was  still 
in  one  sense  true  to  her,  and  had  not  woven  her 
web  of  deceit  in  cold-blooded  indifference,  was  a 
fact  exquisitely  sweet  to  learn.  It  kept  the  friend 
she  loved  intact,  and  Gillette  drew  one  short 
breath  of  thankfulness  that  at  least  she  had  never 
allowed  her  personal  wrongs  to  bring  about  a 
false  conception  of  Ellice. 

All  this  passed  with  the  swiftness  of  lightning. 
She  had  thought  it  before  the  brief  silence  that 


312  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

followed  Ellice's  words  had  terminated.  Then  the 
silence  itself  gripped  her  imagination.  Why  did  he 
not  speak?  Had  Ellice  gone  across  to  him,  drawn 
by  the  fathomless  need  of  his  voice?  Were  his 
arms  at  last  satisfied?  The  silence  grew  horrible. 
Gillette  also  felt  shame  permeate  her,  for  what 
was  she  doing  there?  They  thought  themselves 
alone,  and  she  listened  with  every  nerve  of  hearing 
strained.  But  could  she  do  otherwise?  This  was 
her  husband  and  her  friend,  and  every  word  they 
uttered  tore  at  the  essences  of  her  life.  Besides, 
she  must  learn  how  to  help.  At  any  cost  to  her- 
self, it  had  become  imperative  to  save  the  soul 
that  cried  so  piteously  for  mercy  and  found  none. 

They  were  still  silent.  Gillette  put  a  hand  on 
the  back  of  a  chair  to  help  herself  from  the  room. 
Suddenly  Spenser's  voice  penetrated  to  her  again. 
He  spoke  without  connection.  The  links  that 
joined  the  last  audible  speech  to  this  had  been 
forged,  evidently,  in  the  silence. 

"Oh,  if  she  were  only  a  woman  one  could  di- 
vorce !  I  am  a  brute,  but  you  know  I  would  give 
anything  in  the  world  to  marry  you." 

"Don't,  George;  I  cannot  bear  it." 

Again  the  thin,  suffering  notes  came  from  the 
girl ;  but  he  continued,  as  if  annoyed  by  the  inter- 
ruption : 

"You  must  give  in  at  last,  or  kill  me.  In  a 
month  shall  I  fetch  you?  She  will  be  over  the 
shock  of  the  child's  death  by  then.  She  has  her 
good  works  and  her  money.  And  I  shall  make 
you  happy— you  know  it.  To  you,  Ellice,  I  can 
be  good.  You  even  make  me  feel  tenderly  sweet." 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  313 

Gillette  did  not  hear  the  latter  part  of  his  state- 
ment. At  the  words,  "You  must  give  in,  or  kill 
me,"  instinctive  horror  for  the  very  atmosphere 
she  breathed  drove  her  from  the  room.  She  made 
no  sound  on  the  thick  carpet.  They  heard  noth- 
ing as  she  went  back  into  the  darkened  coolness 
of  her  bedroom. 

Once  there,  she  stood  resting  with  her  hands  on 
the  dressing-table. 

"Oh,  if  she  were  only  a  woman  one  could  di- 
vorce!" 

The  brutality  of  it  fell  like  blows.  Gillette  stood 
giddy  with  them.  She  had  been  his  wife,  the 
mother  of  his  child ;  all  that  was  in  her  power  she 
had  done  to  serve  him,  and  none  of  it  had  touched 
even  the  surface.  Not  the  vilest  thing,  if  it  only 
gave  him  freedom,  was  too  bad  to  wish  her.  He 
could  desire  her,  his  wife,  to  be  evil  and  outcast ; 
be  glad  of  her  shame,  since  it  would  make  him 
able  to  marry  Ellice.  Gillette  grew  dizzy,  all  the 
power  of  her  compassion  impotent  to  understand 
this. 

"Oh,  if  she  were  only  a  woman  one  could  di- 
vorce!" 

Dear  Lord !  there  was  a  way,  then?  There  was 
one  way,  and  she  had  not  thought  of  it — divorce. 
If  he  were  divorced,  George  would  marry  Ellice. 
Gillette  possessed  no  religious  scruples  against 
the  marriage  of  divorced  persons.  Christ  had 
said  that  in  heaven  there  was  "no  marriage  nor 
giving  in  marriage."  Therefore  it  was  evidently 
only  a  state  instituted  for  the  exigencies  of  a  hu- 
man existence.  Widowers  and  widows  remarried, 


314  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

and  the  Church  sanctioned  their  union ;  therefore 
the  guiltless  and  deserted  member  of  a  marriage, 
being  left  without  love,  and  needing  it  for  conso- 
lation in  the  earthly  life,  might  equally  well  re- 
marry without  censure. 

She  stood  in  front  of  the  dressing-table  repeat- 
ing the  word  "divorce"  helplessly.  For  all  her 
arguments,  it  loomed  to  her  full  of  heaviness  and 
malevolence.  She  turned  and  dropped  on  her 
knees  by  the  bed.  It  had  come  to  this:  only  a 
divorce  could  save  Ellice.  But  neither  she  nor 
her  husband  had  any  grounds  for  obtaining  a 
divorce.  Why,  then,  in  her  sore  perplexity,  had 
this  bitter  thing  been  flung  as  the  one  solution? 
She  prayed,  divesting  her  utterance  of  all  but  the 
fervid  request  for  guidance.  But  this  divorce  ob- 
sessed. It  writhed  into  her  supplications,  trailed 
itself  through  their  purity,  stung  her  like  an  adder 
if  for  a  second  her  thoughts  rose  above  it  in  a 
stream  of  adoration.  Divorce,  divorce — could  that 
be  the  way  God  had  given  to  save  Ellice?  But 
how?  Whose  divorce?  Suddenly  she  sprang  to 
her  feet,  shaken  from  head  to  foot  by  a  paroxysm 
of  nervous  shudders. 

"Oh,  God!  is  that  the  way?" 

She  dragged  herself  to  the  window  for  air.  Out 
in  the  garden  her  eyes  fell  upon  great  clumps  of 
pink  peonies,  but  she  did  not  consciously  see 
them. 

"Dear  Lord,  forgive  me  if  I  err,  for  in  my  heart 
I  feel  that  this  is  Thy  wish,  that  Thou  wouldst 
that  I  should  do  this  to  save  Ellice.  To  bear 
ignominy  is  not  to  sin,  and  Thou,  dear  Lord, 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  315 

knowest  that  I  desire  to  prevent  evil,  that  there 
is  no  evil  in  my  thoughts." 

She  lapsed  into  silence  again.  Her  soul,  strained 
to  its  utmost  limits,  waited  for  the  answer  from 
above.  Gradually  the  shuddering  of  her  body 
ceased,  and  a  look  almost  of  peace  passed  into 
the  pallid  face.  She  turned  her  eyes  once  more 
toward  the  garden,  and  saw  the  radiant  color 
of  the  peonies  near  the  lawn,  though  an  instant 
later,  by  a  disastrous  leap  of  association,  her 
eyes  were  aware,  not  of  them,  but  of  a  pink 
crepe  shawl  in  relief  against  the  green,  and  she 
drew  back,  moaning  involuntarily. 

"I  saw  to  save,"  she  repeated,  however,  press- 
ing bravely  out  of  mind  the  bitter  scene  risen  so 
clearly  into  sight  again. 

A  wonderful  calm  was  slowly  filling  her,  the 
quiet  of  any  decision  made  after  dire  perplexity 
falling  upon  the  overtaxed  spirit. 

For  a  long  while  she  remained  sitting  by  the 
window.  She  felt  as  if  to  sit  there,  still,  alone, 
giving  her  physical  fatigue  way  at  last,  was  a 
form  of  happiness.  She  remained  for  a  time  con- 
scious only  of  her  own  lassitude  and  the  pro- 
digious ease  of  bodily  repose  now  that  her  mind 
was  satisfied.  Presently  thought  commenced  its 
travail  again.  She  was  tired,  but  there  was  much 
to  do.  Just  once,  as  she  drew  near  to  action,  a 
ripple  of  distress  disturbed  the  calm  of  her  ex- 
pression again. 

"Give  him  the  strength  to  make  the  sacrifice 
as  well  as  me,"  she  prayed,  going  over  to  the 
writing-table. 


316  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

Presently  she  rang  the  bell. 

"Take  this  note  across  to  Mr.  Crawford,  and 
wait  for  a  reply,"  she  said  to  the  servant  who 
answered  it. 

Her  voice  as  she  spoke  was  unsteady. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  opened,  panting,  the 
missive  brought  back  from  him: 

"MY  DEAR  MRS.  SPENSER: — In  ten  minutes  I  will 
be  with  you.  Your  note  is  like  a  draught  of 
champagne.  Please  do  not  forget  for  one  mo- 
ment that  there  is  nothing  you  could  ask  me  to 
do  but  that  the  doing  of  it  would  constitute  the 
most  precious  memory  of  my  useless,  selfish  ex- 
istence. 

"Yours  in  gratitude, 

"SIDNEY  CRAWFORD." 

Gillette  dropped  the  note  out  of  her  hands. 
Her  face  was  white  as  a  piece  of  paper. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Crawford  waited  some  time  in  Gillette's  bou- 
doir. The  French  shutters  were  closed  across 
the  open  window  to  keep  the  room  from  the 
day's  heat.  He  stood  in  front  of  the  mantel- 
piece and  acknowledged  that  this  coming  inter- 
view greatly  agitated  him.  Also  he  wished  the 
weather  had  been  cooler.  Half  the  time  he  would 
spend  mopping  his  neck  and  forehead. 

For  Gillette's  strange  little  note  had  aroused 
a  curiosity  inwrought  with  emotion.  "I  am  go- 
ing to  ask  you  to  make  a  great  sacrifice  in  order 
to  help  another  human  being."  In  that  phrase 
lay  the  pith  of  the  brief  epistle.  A  sense  of  hap- 
piness different  in  kind  and  greater  than  any  he 
had  ever  experienced  took  possession  of  Craw- 
ford as  he  read.  As  he  stood  in  the  shaded  room 
gazing  at  the  settee  where  she  so  often  lay,  he 
felt  as  if  the  heaviness  of  his  immense  body  rolled 
off  him  through  his  fervor  to  be  about  this  busi- 
ness. Sluggish  fatness  ceased  to  be  an  impedi- 
ment; there  was  an  energy  in  him  sufficient  to 
remove  mountains. 

But  through  his  excitement  ran  a  vein  of  ner- 
vousness and  depression.  He  had  not  seen  Gil- 
lette since  the  child's  death.  She  had  sent  a 
message  thanking  him  for  the  huge  cross  he  had 
placed  among  the  others,  but  he  knew  also  of 
her  prostration,  of  the  disquietude  that  remained 


318  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

in  her  eyes,  and  the  despair  that  wandered  forth 
in  the  broken  feebleness  of  her  voice.  And  after 
dreading  unspeakably  their  first  meeting,  he  was 
to  see  her  with  her  wound  still  fresh  and  bleed- 
ing, with  her  aching  heart  undulled  by  time  and 
habit.  Frankly,  he  grew  afraid  of  his  own  emo- 
tionality at  the  thought.  It  was  to  him  as  if 
she  came  with  her  sorrow  carried  naked  in  her 
arms,  and  asked  him  to  gaze  at  its  awfulness. 
Oh,  to  see  her  suffer,  and  he  helpless!  He  had 
sobbed  before  at  lesser  women's  pettier  wailings 
when  with  them.  What  should  he  do,  then,  face 
to  face  with  agony  itself,  in  the  heart  of  the 
greatest  he  knew?  He  was  wiping  his  hot  neck 
above  the  collar  when  the  door  opened.  Slowly 
Gillette  came  across  to  him,  a  figure  tragic  be- 
yond expression  in  its  very  simplicity  and  quiet. 

"Mrs.  Spenser " 

Crawford  could  say  no  more.  A  lump  filled 
his  throat,  but  he  seized  the  hand  she  held  out 
and  pressed  it  between  his  own.  She  had  pos- 
sessed to  him,  as  she  walked  across  the  dark- 
ened room,  a  beauty  become  superhuman.  He 
saw  the  graceful  lines  of  her  black  gown,  the 
whiteness  of  her  face,  the  spiritual  light  shining 
in  the  distended  eyes;  but  he  saw  besides  them 
something  else  indefinable,  that  gave  him  a  de- 
sire to  kneel  and  worship  at  her  feet.  Obscurely 
he  felt  as  if  to-day  he  saw  her  soul  literally  gleam- 
ing behing  her  face,  as  if  she  had  clothed  herself 
only  in  its  beauty,  and  come  to  him  privately  to 
show  him  once  the  miraculous  grace  of  it.  To- 
day in  her  noble  gentleness  she  had  grown  divine. 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  319 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?  Tell  me,  please"  he 
said  at  last,  perceiving  that  she  seemed  afraid  to 
begin  speaking. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Spenser,  come  and  sit  down.  You 
don't  look  fit  to  stand." 

"I — would  rather  stand,  if  you  do  not  mind." 

Whatever  she  had  to  ask  cost  her,  he  discerned, 
a  grievous  effort  to  enunciate.  She  laid  a  hand 
upon  the  arm  of  the  settee,  and  commenced  to 
tremble  slightly.  Crawford  grew  unnerved  with 
misery  at  the  sight. 

"Mrs.  Spenser,  won't  you  tell  me  what  I  can 
do?  I  am  so  impatient  to  learn.  Only  you  must 
not  be  deceived — it  won't  be  any  sacrifice  at  all. 
I  am  just  bursting  with  my  own  good  luck — I 
mean — you  see,  Mrs.  Spenser,  I  felt  that  I  should 
just  go  on  chattering  about  doing  things  to  get 
a  bit  straight  in  mind,  and  never  do  anything 
in  the  end.  And  now  you  say " 

She  was  looking  at  him  with  so  extraordinary 
an  expression  that  he  broke  off  from  sheer  sur- 
prise. He  had  the  impression  that  every  word 
he  uttered  hurt  her.  When  he  ceased  speaking, 
her  fingers  moved  helplessly  over  the  cool  chintz 
surface.  The  first  words  she  uttered  were  scarcely 
audible,  though  she  looked  him  bravely  in  the  face. 

"Mr.  Crawford,  the  sacrifice  I  want  to  ask  is 
much,  much  greater  than  you  could  guess.  Would 
you — give  up  your  good  reputation — be  charged 
with  a  great  sin — if  it  was  to  save  another  human 
being  from  committing  any  sin  at  all — if  it  was 
to  bring  happiness  and  avoid  evil?  Could  you — 
bear  it  all — your  life?" 


320  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

Each  halting  word  came  charged  with  magnet- 
ism. As  she  spoke,  Crawford  felt  drawn  by  a 
fascination  both  unnatural  and  overpowering. 
She  seemed  to  immerse  him  in  her  own  emotions. 

"I  would  give  up  anything,  be  bombarded  all 
over  with  charges,  if  you  tell  me  that  you  wish 
it.  Mrs.  Spenser,  won't  you  tell  me  what  this  is 
I  am  to  do?" 

"Yes;  but  the  words  go  from  me — and  if  you 
should  not  understand?  Will  you  go  to  the  win- 
dow and  turn  your  back,  and  only  listen? — no, 
stay:  I  will  say  it." 

She  could  scarcely  breathe.  Her  poor,  hot 
hands  fluttered  piteously  over  the  cold  chintz 
cover,  and  her  lips  moved  without  sound ;  but  in 
the  meantime  Crawford  was  powerless  to  help 
her.  He  had  not  the  most  obtuse  glimmering, 
even,  of  what  she  desired  to  say.  Until  she  spoke 
he  could  do  nothing. 

"Mrs.  Spenser,  remember  what  I  have  just  said, 
that  there  is  nothing  you  could  ask  but  that  I 
should  do  it  -with  a  whole  heart.  You  know 
better  than  I  do,  too,  that  the  happiness  of  some- 
thing done  unselfishly  beats  every  other  kind  of 
happiness  hollow." 

He  spoke  to  try  and  lessen  her  timidity,  but  at 
the  same  time  strongly  under  the  contagious  in- 
fluence of  her  presence.  His  desire  to  be  regen- 
erated grew  every  moment;  and,  certainly,  a 
nature  like  his  own  he  felt  could  only  be  regen- 
erated by  action,  much  action,  and  the  more 
violent  and  upheaving  the  better. 

She  looked  at  him  then  with  a  sudden  diminu- 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  321 

tion  of  confusion.  The  spiritual  light  returned 
to  her  eyes,  and  once  again  Crawford  felt  that 
her  beauty  to-day  was  overpowering  and  inex- 
plicable. For  all  her  hesitation,  and  distress  also, 
she  drew  him  nearer  to  the  inner  regions  of  her 
nature  than  she  had  ever  done  previously.  His 
desire  to  make  a  sacrifice  grew  like  a  tempest. 
Slowly  she  raised  her  head. 

"I  want — Mr.  Spenser — to  divorce  me.  He  loves 
Ellice.  Will  you  take  me  away  from  here  to- 
night, and  let  the  world — think  that  we  are 
guilty?  We  must — go — and  stay  in  the — same 
house." 

She  saw  his  expression  grow  fixed  and  horror- 
stricken;  his  very  cheeks  turn  white  and  flabby. 
And  suddenly  her  own  agitation  dropped.  In 
an  instant  her  mind  grew  calm  and  clear,  every 
fragment  of  timidity  falling  away  from  her  in 
the  need  for  additional  strength  brusquely  arisen. 
The  anguish  of  shame  she  had  endured  until  that 
moment  died  like  a  breeze  at  sunset.  She  realized 
nothing  any  longer  but  that  her  sweet  work  of 
redemption  was  even  yet  not  secure,  that  she  had 
still  to  do  battle,  to  fling  away  from  them  time 
after  time  every  arduous  scruple  as  it  arose. 

Crawford  stared  at  her  speechlessly.  Literally 
his  tongue  lay  powerless.  Primarily  her  words 
roused  a  sudden  madness.  Passion  like  a  beast 
at  the  sight  of  prey  leaped  up  to  seize  its  vic- 
tim. This  passed,  but  he  stared  on,  trying  to  un- 
derstand the  real  significance  of  the  weird,  insane 
proposal,  wonderful  in  its  absurdity,  lovely  in  its 
very  farcicality.  Gradually  the  drift  of  the  situa- 
21 


322  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

tion  grew  clear  to  him.  Gillette  knew  all  or 
most  that  there  -was  to  know  about  her  hus- 
band and  Miss  Bastien,  and,  with  a  selflessness 
equally  sublime  and  ridiculous,  she  proposed  to 
make  matters  straight  for  them.  If  she  were 
divorced  they  could  marry,  and  be  happy  like 
the  virtuous  children  of  a  fairy  story.  So,  with 
a  touching,  wondrous  naivete,  she  came  and  asked 
him  to  run  away  with  her,  or,  rather,  to  make 
believe  of  running  away  with  her,  in  order  that 
two  people  not  -worthy  to  tie  her  shoestrings 
could  make  love  -without  dissembling.  It  was 
enough  to  make  one  laugh  and  weep  alternately. 
But  he  looked  at  her,  and  the  petty  smile  of 
ridicule  subsided.  What  she  asked  became  no 
longer  purely  fantastic.  It  became  an  action 
attracting  him,  as  if  together  they  passed  by  it 
out  of  the  fever  and  taint  of  worldly  places  and 
•worldly  conventions  into  a  region  full  of  quiet- 
ness and  harmony.  Without  a  word,  in  a  long 
silence  tense  with  the  burning  thoughts  of  both, 
this  man  divested  himself  of  all  his  old  prejudices, 
of  all  that  could  impair  his  single-minded  vision 
of  the  actual  deed  and  actual  vision.  Never  in 
his  life  had  he  lived  an  hour  so  intensely  as  he 
lived  this,  when  he  stood  opposite  to  the  woman 
whose  goodness  enthralled  him,  and  who  asked 
him,  with  eyes  shining,  publicly  to  brand  her 
\vith  dishonor.  But  he  could  not  do  it!  It  was 
beyond  the  bounds  of  possibility.  Yet  he  knew — 
she  spoke  to  him  soul  to  soul  in  the  silence,  let- 
ting her  nature,  with  all  its  secret  harborings, 
stream  forth  into  his — that  this  dishonor  would 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  323 

but  bring  her  peace,  while  refusal  trampled  the 
last  possible  happiness  out  of  her  existence. 

"I  love  you,  dear,  with  a  human  love;  your 
shame  would  kill  me,"  he  said  to  himself.  But 
it  seemed  as  if  her  mind  read  by  intuition  the 
thought  of  his,  the  supplication  of  her  eyes  grew 
so  explicit,  imploring  him  to  remember  that  shame 
is  of  the  conscience,  and  can  come  from  no  other 
source.  Was  it,  then,  his  sacrifice,  he  asked  him- 
self, to  suffer  for  her  what  her  white  soul  could 
not  suffer  for  itself?  Rivulets  of  perspiration 
streamed  down  his  temples,  through  the  agony 
of  his  perturbation.  But  not  for  a  second  did 
he  give  a  thought  to  any  personal  discredit.  He 
had  not  an  emotion  except  for  Gillette.  At  last 
he  spoke. 

"Mrs.  Spenser,  you  do  not  know  what  you  ask ; 
you  are  too  good,  dear  woman,  to  understand. 
You  see  only  your  beautiful  intention,  but  I  must 
see  other  things  besides.  /  cannot  let  you  suffer 
the  unbearable.  This — oh,  forgive  me  for  refusing ! 
— is  the  impossible." 

A  sob  broke  from  her;  for,  watching  his  face 
in  the  silence,  she  had  felt  the  slow  uprising  of 
sympathy.  Already  a  great  prayer  of  thanks- 
giving trembled  upon  her  lips,  and  now  he  re- 
fused. Yet  he  must  needs  refuse  at  first;  she  un- 
derstood that.  It  was  for  her  to  make  clear  how, 
if  he  could  bear  the  weight  of  ignominy,  for  her 
it  was  but  a  mantle  embroidered  with  threads 
of  gold. 

"Mr.  Crawford — forme;  it  is  all  happiness — the 
great  opportunity  granted  my  life.  Oh,  if  I  could 


324  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

but  make  you  understand.  Ellice  loves  my  hus- 
band! She  has  loved  him,  I  think,  for  many, 
many  years.  And  I  am  afraid — they  love  so  much, 
and  he  is  ill.  I  feel  that  she  thinks  he  will  die 
if  she  does  not  go  away  with  him.  Every  day, 
all  day,  I  am  afraid  for  them.  And  Ellice  is  good 
— she  asks  him  to  have  pity.  Oh,  she  must  not 
go !  If — we  do  this — he  will  divorce  me — Ellice  is 
saved.  And  him — I  think  too  much  suffering 
turns  him  from  good,  has  brought  bitterness. 
With  happiness  he  might  feel  differently." 

Still  Crawford's  face  remained  unyielding.  She 
saw  compassion,  but  no  assent;  and  physical 
strength  was  going.  Already  her  poor  tired  voice 
had  died  to  a  husky  \vhisper.  In  the  supreme 
ardor  of  her  petition  she  had  unconsciously  flung 
her  hands  out  toward  him.  He  held  them,  wish- 
ing he  could  press  them  against  his  lips.  She 
shivered.  No  prisoner  waiting  to  hear  whether  a 
death-sentence  or  an  acquittal  would  fall  from  the 
lips  of  the  judge  could  have  revealed  a  more 
awful  uncertainty  than  she  betrayed  while  the 
other  stood  and  hesitated  with  her  trembling 
hands  retained  in  his. 

What  could  he  do?  To  begin  -with,  he  loved  her, 
and  this  mock  elopement  stirred  up  new  and  bit- 
ter emotions.  How  could  he  play  the  sham  lover, 
and  not  betray  inner  longing  to  turn  the  sham 
into  reality?  True,  he  could  still  honestly  affirm 
it  was  her  soul  he  loved  supremely,  but  to  stand 
the  farcical  tragedy  of  the  future,  and  support 
along  with  it  the  passion  inevitably  drawn  to  the 
surface,  was  no  mean  sacrifice  to  make.  She,  with 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  325 

her  innocent  wide  eyes,  did  not  realize  the  extent 
of  the  self-annihilation  she  asked. 

"Mrs.  Spenser!"  he  gasped,  feeling  that  the  air 
of  the  room  was  red-hot,  and  that  life  itself  after 
this  scene  would  become  impossible  in  its  compli- 
cations. "I " 

She  waited  in  a  dumb  agony.  He  stopped, 
checked  by  the  slow  despair  that  had  crept  into 
her  eyes  to  increase  his  sense  of  being  unnerved 
and  hard  pressed.  The  spiritual  hope,  like  a  lan- 
tern shining  behind  them  when  she  had  entered 
the  room,  had  faded  gradually.  A  -wistful  desola- 
tion now  took  its  place,  as  if  at  last  they  won- 
dered plaintively  at  their  own  excess  of  sorrow. 

Crawford's  own  mental  torture  was  extreme. 
She  drew  him  irresistibly  to  desire  this  action 
also,  to  temporarily  exult  in  the  self-sacrifice  en- 
tailed; but  he  knew  his  exultation,  unlike  hers, 
could  not  endure  permanently.  Subsequently  com- 
mon-sense would  return  to  him.  He  would  see 
the  affair  once  more  both  mad  and  grotesque. 
And  yet,  and  yet  through  this  woman  he  was 
beginning  not  to  care  much  for  the  dictates  of 
conventional  opinion.  And  if  he  did  this,  he  and 
this  woman  for  the  future  would  be  spiritually, 
at  least,  one.  Their  lives  could  never  again  be 
wholly  separated.  No,  no !  if  they  left  this  house 
together  spiritually,  they  would  remain  together 
always.  Just  that  much  he  had  a  right  to  ask — 
the  guidance  of  his  future  life  by  hers — and  he  felt 
his  chest  expand  at  the  mere  suggestion.  At  that 
moment  she  lifted  her  head  once  more.  It  was 
like  a  ghost's  with  great  black  eyes. 


326  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

"Mr.  Crawford,  can't  you?  Won't  you  remem- 
ber that  you,  too,  believe — that  life  was  given  to 
try  and  achieve  good  with — to  be — our  oppor- 
tunity?" 

He  groaned  out  aloud.  His  conscience,  for  all 
his  contempt  for  it,  was  keenly  alive.  While 
Gillette  waited,  sick  with  fear  and  grief,  she  yet 
knew  that  her  friend,  too,  would  act  only  accord- 
ing to  the  light  given.  She  saw  in  his  face,  with 
its  unprecedented  look  of  thought,  that  his  an- 
swer, be  it  yes  or  no,  would  come  ringing  and 
whole  from  his  sore-pressed  spirit.  She  waited, 
beyond  prayer,  beyond  everything  but  hard- 
breathed  suspense.  And  her  eyes,  darkened  by 
misery,  gazed  fixedly  at  his  till  he  was  aware  of 
nothing  but  them  and  the  wondrous  radiance  of 
the  soul  behind.  Stifling,  he  made  a  movement  to 
fling  back  the  closed  shutters.  As  he  did  so,  he 
heard  voices  talking  in  the  passage,  coming  to- 
ward the  room.  In  an  instant  hesitation  left  him. 
He  took  the  dearly-loved  hands  in  his  once  more 
and  spoke  in  a  hurried  whisper: 

"Mrs.  Spenser,  I  will  do  all  you  ask.  To  serve 
you  is  the  only  happiness  I  care  for.  In  two 
hours  be  at  the  gates  on  the  other  side  of  the 
park.  Hush!  here  come  Miss  Bastien  and  your 
husband.  Have  no  fear — in  two  hours  your  work 
of  salvation  will  have  begun.  Only  tell  me — it  is 
all  I  need — that  you  will  trust  your  faithful 
brother  from  thi^  moment  to  the  end  of  your 
life." 

He  did  not  hear  the  answer,  though  he  knew  it 
to  be  assent.  But  he  saw  what  was  even 


GILLETTE'S  MARRIAGE  327 

sweeter :  the  agony  fade  like  an  evil  dream  out  of 
her  eyes,  and  into  her  face  come  a  look  of  tender 
exultation  such  as  he  had  not  seen  in  it  except 
when  she  had  clasped,  during  the  first  happy  days 
of  her  motherhood,  her  little  infant  to  her  breast. 
Into  the  heart  of  each,  by  the  time  the  door  was 
opened,  had  already  descended  steadfastness  and 
peace. 


ECCENTRICITIES  OF  GENIUS 

By  Major  J.  B.   Pond. 


READ    WHAT    IS    SAID    OF    IT. 


"  It  is  distinctly  one  of  the  most  in- 
teresting books  of  the  year  from  any 
point  of  view." — Rochester  Sunday 
Herald. 

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so  fascinating  a  book  of  reminiscences. 
Many  a  day — or  perhaps  I  should 
have  said  a  '  night ' — for  this  volume 
has  given  me  delight  during  hours, 
when,  according  to  the  laws  of  nature, 
I  should  have  been  asleep." — Newell 
Dwight  Hillis. 

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It  fairly  reeks  with  personality.  .  .  . 
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ing association  with  so  many  inter- 
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"  Adorned  by  many  pictures,  never 
before  published." — Detroit  Journal. 

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tions."— Boston  Journal. 

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subject,  furnishing  pen-portraits  that 
are  admirably  clear  and  graphic." — 
The  Mail  and  Express. 

''  The  whole  book,  stuffed  as  it  is 
with  anecdotes  and  extracts  from 
personal  letters,  is  marvelously  inter- 
esting."— Boston  Transcript. 


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book."—  Philadelphia  Ev:ning  Tele- 
graph. 


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TYYT"  Trrr^T"  A  /^F*    f\T*  TTT¥T/\T\  A  T 

THE  VOYAGE  OF  ITHOBAL 

BY 

SIR  EDWIN  ARNOLD 

Ithobal  was  the  first  African  explorer  we  know 
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valuable record  of  that  gigantic  contest  between  the  two 
great  armies." 

"The  characters  are  real,  their  emotions  natural,  and  the  ro- 
mance that  is  interwoven  is  delightful.  It  is  wholesome  and 
one  of  General  King's  best,  if  not  his  best  book." — N.  Y. 
Journal. 

"From  the  first  chapter  to  the  last  page  the  interest  of  the 
reader  never  fags.  General  King  has  written  no  more  bril- 
liant or  stirring  novel  than  'Norman,  Holt.'  " — N.  Y.  Press. 
Illustrated,  cloth  bound $1-25 

JOHN  EENEY,  (25th  Thousand.) 

By  HUGH  McHucn.  "  'John  Henry'  has  just  'butted'  its  way 
in  between  the  literary  bars  and  capered  over  the  book  coun- 
ters to  the  tune  of  twelve  thousand  copies  before  its  pub- 
lishers could  recover  their  breath. 

"Every  page  is  as  catchy  as  a  bar  from  a  popular  song. 

"The  slang  is  as  correct,  original  and  smart  as  the  newest 
handshake  from  London. 

"In  the  lottery  of  humorous  books  'John  Henry'  seems  to  ap- 
proximate the  capital  prize." — N.  Y.  Journal. 

"All  who  have  laughed  over  'Billy  Baxter'  will  heartily  enjoy 
this  book." — The  Bookseller,  Newsdealer  and  Stationer. 
Cloth  bound .  .  $0.75 

THE  KING  OF  HONEY  ISLAND,  (45th  Thousand.) 
By  MAURICE  THOMPSON,  author  of  "Alice  of  Old  Vincennes," 
etc.  "  'The  King  of  Honey  Island'  bears  quite  as  many  marks 
of  the  genius  of  the  author  as  does  'Alice  of  Old  Vincennes,' 
with  the  additional  charm,  perhaps  of  more  buoyancy  and 
beauty  of  thought  and  expression.  In  'Alice'  Mr.  Thompson 
plumed  himself  as  a  master  word  painter.  In  'The  King  of 
Honey  Island'  he  developed  into  a  veritable  American  Ouida, 
for  his  descriptive  powers  are  marvelous.  Like  the  true 
artist  that  he  was,  he  paints  Nature  as  it  looks,  not  as  it  is, 
so  that  the  reader,  in  glimpsing  the  battle  of  New  Orleans, 
hears,  almost,  the  cannon's  roar." — The  Topeka  Capital. 
Illustrated,  cloth  bound $1.50 


JOHN  WINSLOW. 

By  HENRY  D.  NORTHROP.  "  'John  Winslow'  is  one  of  those  in- 
viting books  of  country  life  of  which  the  best  part  of  'Eben 
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is  a  book  for  a  wide  reach  among  readers." — N.  Y.  World. 

"Properly   ranks   with   'Eben.  Holden/    'David    Harum,'    and 

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The  North  American. 

"Worthy  to  live  with  'David  Harum"  and  'Eben  Holden.' " — 
Publishers'  Weekly.  I2mo,  ilkistrated,  cloth  bound.  $1.50 

TJNDEE  A  LUCKY  STAE,  a  New  Book  on  Astrology. 
By  CHARLOTTE  ABELL  WALKER.  Tells  what  occupation  to  adopt, 
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Illustrated,  cloth  bound $1.50 

THE  WAT  OF  A  MAN  WITH  A  MAID. 

By  FRANCES  GORDEN  FANE.  A  clever,  well-written  story,  full 
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step  of  the  domestic  tragedy  is  skilfully  portrayed,  until  the 
final  climax  is  reached. 

"Its  author  has  made  it  a  powerful,  telling  story  to  read." — 
N.  Y.  World. 
Cloth     bound. $1.50 

THE  OEOSSEOADS  OP  DESTINY,  a  Story  of  Chivalry  in  the  Fif- 
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By  JOHN  P.  RITTER.  Author  of  "The  Man  Who  Dared."  This 
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World.  Cloth  bound,  illustrated.  ....  $1.25 


A  CHEttDE  FOR  THREE  THOUSAND. 
By  ARTHUR  HENRY  VEYSEY.  (Tenth  edition.)  It's  a  jolly  good 
story,  bright  and  clear.  Dramatic,  full  of  life  and  action  and 
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A  PEDIGREE  IN  PAWN. 

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Cloth  bound. 1.25 

HATS  OFF. 

By  ARTHUR  HENRY  VEYSEY.  Author  of  "  A  Cheque  for  Threa 
Thousand,"  etc.  A  splendid  story  for  summer  reading.  Are 
you  tired,  blue?  Read  HATS  OFF!  Do  you  want  a  story 
for  the  hammock?  Read  HATS  OFF!  Do  you  want  a  story 
with  "  go,"  with  an  original  plot  ?  Read  HATS  OFF  !  Do  you 
want  to  laugh?  Read  HATS  OFF!  Cloth  bound.  .  1.25 

Paper  covers.       .          50 

THE  STATEROOM  OPPOSITE. 

By  ARTHUR  HENRY  VEYSEY.  Author  of  "A  Cheque  for  Three, 
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powerful  story,  with  a  most  dramatic  climax,  and  inimitably 
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Paper  covers.  ...  50 

CLEO  THE  MAGNIFICENT;  or,  The  Muse  of  the  Real. 
By  Louis  ZANGWILL.  The  Boston  Times  says :  "  The  story  is 
drawn  with  a  master  hand  and  the  characters  stand  forth  in 
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bound.  ........  1.50 


THE  MAID  OF  BOCASSE. 

By  MAY  HALSEY  MILLER.  Author  of  "Raoul  and  Iron  Hand." 
This  is  a  delightful  fourteenth-century  romance.  The 
Maid  of  Bocasse  was  the  orphan  daughter  of  a  rich  count, 
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Cloth  bound,  illustrated,  .  .  .  $1.50 

WIDOW  MAGOOGIN. 

By  JOHN  J.  JENNINGS.  The  inimitable  widow's  philosophy 
on  the  topics  of  the  day,  spoken  in  her  own  dialect,  is  won- 
derfully funny.  As  a  critic,  the  "Irish  widow"  touches  upon 
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touches  true  to  Nature.  Cloth  bound,  .  .  $1.25 

THE  SONG-  OF  THE  SWORD,  A  Eomance  of 
1796, 

By  LEO  DITRICHSTEIN.  This  author  needs  no  introduction  to 
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There  is,  in  fact,  an  odor  of  romance  all  about  it.  The 
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FATHER  ANTHONY. 

By  ROBERT  BUCHANAN.  "One  of  the  most  touching  and  dra- 
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It  is  a  heart-stirring  story ;  and  it  is  the  more  attractive 
because  Mr.  Buchanan  writes  of  Irish  life  from  personal 
knowledge,  and  describes  places  and  people  with  which,  and 
with  whom,  he  has  had  a  long  familiarity.  Father  John  is  a 
typical  Irish  character.  Mr.  Buchanan  has  never  con- 
ceived a  more  finely-drawn  character  than  Father  Anthony. 
The  book  can  be  heartily  commended  to  all  classes  of 
readers." — London  Weekly  Sun.  Ten  editions  have  been 
sold  in  London.  Cloth  bound,  .  .  .  $1.50 


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